


Butterflies

by Persuade_me



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fix-It, Forgie, Future Fic, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2020-10-06 19:44:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 56,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20512460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persuade_me/pseuds/Persuade_me
Summary: She assumed the fluttering in her stomach was due to the lurching of the ship. It didn’t exactly feel like seasickness though, and she’d had plenty of that when they’d first set sail.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There was a Tumblr post recently about it being four months since forge sex, and I got inspired. 
> 
> You can find me there at [fandomjuxtaposition](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/fandomjuxtaposition) if you really want.

At first, she assumed the fluttering in her stomach was due to the lurching of the ship. It didn’t exactly feel like seasickness though, and she’d had plenty of that when they’d first set sail. 

Passing by the Stormlands had been particularly rough, but she wasn’t the only one on board who had issues with those choppy seas. She was glad for the others heaving over the side of the ship. It let her convince herself that the clenching of her stomach had nothing to do with the newly appointed lord whose land they were passing or the looks he’d given her at the Dragon Pit.

But her nausea had persisted long after the _ Nymeria _ had rounded Sunspear, and even once they’d docked in Oldtown for several days, she still had a few mornings where she’d had to run to the privy to empty her stomach. Her legs had been wobbly on land after two weeks at sea, and she’d been relieved when she awoke one morning feeling ravenous, grateful that her body had seemed to finally adjust to its new circumstances.

So when she’d felt a faint quivering in her gut during a light storm after almost three weeks at sea, Arya put it down to the rolling of the ship over the waves. But then it happened again the next day when there were practically no waves at all. And again while she was lying still in her cabin. And again after they’d made land on one of the three small islands in the Summer Sea discovered by Elissa Farman centuries before.

But after being on solid ground for three straight days, the strange feeling only increased in frequency, and Arya could no longer pass it off as an effect of the sea, though she didn’t know what it was. If she was ill, she didn’t want to confine herself on a ship, potentially passing sickness off to the rest of her crew. 

***

“Maester Jarrad, can I speak with you please?” Her foot was tapping restlessly on the sand as she waited for the maester to extricate himself from a conversation. Their plan was to depart the next morning, but before they could do that, Arya had to know if she was a danger to anyone else on board.

The gray haired maester joined her on the sand as she stared out at the waves. “What can I do for you, captain?”

“What do you know of butterfly fever, Jarrad?”

He started a bit, clearly surprised by her question. He looked at her, furrowing his brows in thought. “Originates from Naath. Essentially always fatal. Nasty way to go.”

At that precise moment, her stomach fluttered again, and her heart sank. “Oh.”

“Why do you ask, captain?”

“How can you tell if someone has it?” She tried to control the fear in her voice, but the look on Jarrad’s face told her she was entirely unsuccessful.

“There’s no possible way you have butterfly fever, captain,” he said in a reassuring manner. “You’d be shaking on the ground and sweating blood.”

Arya felt a wave of relief wash over her, but the feeling in her gut immediately pushed it away. There was _ something _ wrong with her. 

Maester Jarrad looked at her curiously, eyes searching her face. “Why would you think you have butterfly fever?”

“Because that’s what it feels like. It feels like butterflies.”

“Butterflies?”

She nodded at him and placed a hand on her abdomen. “In here, it’s like butterflies. I can feel...wings fluttering. I thought it was the sea, but it hasn’t stopped. It’s only gotten stronger, and I don’t want to make anyone else sick.”

Jarrad’s face went very still, and his eyes flicked from her face to her stomach and back up again. “You were sick before, I think,” he said slowly. “For several weeks when we first set sail.”

Arya nodded. “Just seasickness, though. Hadn’t sailed in a long time. I suppose my body needed to get used to it again.”

He peered at her intently. “Had you been sick before we left King’s Landing?”

She started to shake her head, but then stopped, thinking back. She’d been sick off and on before they left. Right after King’s Landing had burnt, she’d found herself vomiting up gray and black bile for days. Breathing in all that ash and smoke had done her no favors. 

And then Jon had killed Daenerys and she’d been under so much stress, worrying over his fate that she was in a near constant state of nausea for almost two weeks as they waited on the lords and ladies of Westeros to assemble. Then Jon’s banishment happened, and Bran was crowned king, and she decided to leave, wanting nothing to do with any of it. Sansa had agreed to let her take the Stark ship that she and Bran had sailed down on from White Harbor, and she’d spent the next two weeks hiring a crew and gathering supplies. But she was still so anxious over whether she was making the right decision or not, that her stomach’s constant rebellion didn’t seem that strange at the time. 

But now...

She looked back at Jarrad cautiously. “A bit,” she admitted.

“For how long?”

“Four or five weeks, I guess. It started in King’s Landing. After...the dragon.”

Jarrad pursed his lips and stared at her for a long moment. “I think I might know what’s causing it,” he said. “If I’m right, you won’t need to worry about passing it on to anyone else.”

Arya relaxed slightly. “What is it? What’s wrong with me?”

The maester’s face was unreadable. “Captain,” he said slowly. “When did you last bleed?”

“I- What?”

“Your moon blood. When did you last have it?”

His question startled her. She’d never bled that regularly, and she had to think to when she’d last had to deal with it. It’d been in Winterfell. Right before Jon had returned. With so much happening, the fact that it’d been...almost five moons since she’d bled had completely escaped her notice.

She stared at him, a suspicion starting to form in the back of her mind. “Before the battle at Winterfell,” she said. “About four and a half moons ago.”

He nodded, as if she’d just confirmed something. He reached his hand out to hover over her belly. “May I?”

Arya nodded wordlessly, flinching slightly as his hand pressed hard into her abdomen, fingers moving around as he searched for something. 

“Has your appetite changed recently? Any strange cravings or aversions?” Jarrad was on his knees in front of her now, pulling up her tunic to examine her stomach more closely. 

“Yes,” she replied, “but I’ve never eaten this much fish in my life, so I’m not surprised I’ve gotten sick of it.”

“Hmm.” He leaned in to look at the waistband of her breeches. “These seem tight, captain. They’re digging into your skin here.” He gently tapped his fingers on her hips.

“I’ve been eating a lot of potatoes lately,” she said defensively, internally dismissing any other reason her breeches might not fit. 

Jarrad stood and stared at her for a long moment, his expression blank. “Captain, have you ever lain with a man?”

She flushed scarlet, her body going hot at the memory of Gendry’s hands on her, and she _ knew. _ “Once,” she admitted reluctantly. _ Technically twice, _ the thought sprang unbidden to her mind.

“Once is all it takes,” he said gently. “Would I be correct in assuming this was about four moons ago?”

She blinked at him, her mind whirling with the revelation. Then she nodded.

He crossed his arms in front of him and studied her. “There are...options, but at this point they are dangerous.”

It took a moment for his meaning to sink in. “No!” she yelled, horrified. “No,” she repeated, softer, but firmly. “I don’t want that.”

Jarrad took a step towards her and stretched out his hand to rest on her shoulder as he looked her in the eyes. “Then I suggest you decide what you do want, captain. The unknown sea is no place for a babe.”

Arya stared at him. What did she want? She thought she had known, but now... This changed everything. 

“I need to think on it,” she said after a long moment. “Tomorrow. I’ll let you know tomorrow.”

The maester gave her a long searching look, then nodded and turned away, leaving her alone on the beach.

She plopped down on the sand, pulling her knees to her chest and feeling as if her breath had been stolen away. She was with child. _ Gendry’s _ child. Gendry, who told her he loved her, who called her beautiful, who asked her to be with him, to be his wife. Who was thousands of miles away at Storm’s End, probably learning to use a fork properly and...what? Was he thinking of her? Did he miss her or had he put her out of his mind the moment she’d turned away from him at the Dragon Pit and found a proper lady to wed?

Arya had wanted to speak to him so badly, but she hadn’t. She’d watched him covertly eyeing her, following her lead as everyone had sat down, Gendry just a beat behind the rest. She’d noticed the way his head jerked towards her when she threatened Yara. She’d seen the longing in his eyes, the hope, and then the heartbreak as she moved away, turning her back on the man who had once been her only friend in the world.

She’d hated herself for doing it. Hated the way his shoulders slumped and his head bowed when she glanced back to watch him leave. Hated the heavy weight that had settled in her chest, only lessening slightly when Oldtown was behind them. She’d thought that meant she’d made the right decision, that leaving Westeros would let her breathe again, but most days it just sat there, on the edge of her consciousness, rearing up whenever she let her thoughts drift away from the ship. On busy days, she could almost ignore the way her heart would clench when her eyes met those of the ship’s cook, eyes that were a nearly perfect shade of blue. 

But she’d had to do it, she told herself. He couldn’t love her. She was death, and she couldn’t let him love her. So she left, convincing herself that she’d always had a burning desire to know what was west of Westeros and that Gendry would move on. Find a proper lady who enjoyed dresses and sewing, who would bat her lashes at him and dutifully bear his heirs.

Except. His heir was currently inside her.

Oh gods.

What was she going to do?

She sat, staring out at the sea, trying to consider the situation dispassionately, but all she could see was him. Gazing up at her in awe as she settled on top of him. Shackled and thrown in the back of a cart. Riding past her on that white horse. Meeting her eyes across Harrenhal. Kneeling in front of her, heart in his hand. Standing up for a ragged orphan boy. “You wouldn’t be my family, you’d be m’lady.” “None of it means anything if you’re not with me. So be with me.”

Gods, she was an idiot.

Sandor had tried to tell her, in his own crude way. Told her when they left Winterfell how “that lovesick twat” had been looking for her _ before _ he’d been legitimized, but she’d scoffed, already telling herself that he was just drunk. He didn’t mean it. He couldn’t mean it.

But she _ knew _ him. He did mean it, and she’d known what he meant when he’d asked her to be the lady of Storm’s End, deep down, she’d known. And she was an idiot because if there was one man in the world who would ever love her just as she was, who would never try to change her, it was Gendry. He’d never expect her to defer to him or to lay down her sword. Hells, he’d probably make her as many swords as she asked of him. 

And she turned him down. Because of what? Some stupid death wish? Then when she’d had the chance to take it back, all she could do was run, like some coward because she couldn’t face the fact that he might actually love her, scars and all. And now, in an absolutely hilarious twist of fate, he’d gotten her pregnant her very first _ or possibly second _ time, and the night she destroyed death, they’d actually created life.

Arya started laughing. Just a small bewildered chuckle at first. Then several high pitched giggles escaped her mouth as the irony of the situation hit her again, and then she was cackling. Head thrown back, tears streaming down her face, laughing so hard she could barely breathe. 

When her laughter had finally subsided and she wiped the tears from her eyes, she found Maester Jarrad, her first mate Jack, and several of the crew members watching her warily. 

“Captain?” Jack stepped forward. “Is everything all right?”

Her hands dropped down to rest against her belly, and she felt it again. That soft fluttering that was Gendry’s child. Hers and his. Theirs. And she knew exactly what she wanted. She stood, brushing the sand from her breeches and turned to him. “How quickly can you get me to Storm’s End?” 


	2. Chapter 2

The winds had been favorable, almost as if the gods themselves were propelling the _ Nymeria _ through the seas. It was scarcely more than a fortnight when the shores of Westeros appeared on the horizon, and now the nausea Arya hadn’t felt in over a moon suddenly returned in full force as she stood watching them draw closer and closer to the harbor at Oldtown.

What if he didn’t want her? What if he hated her for leaving? What if he’d already married? She was certain there would be many eligible young ladies clamoring for the handsome lord of Storm’s End, and doubtless his bannermen would want him to produce heirs as soon as possible. She thought quickly, calculating the amount of time since she’d seen him last. It’d been almost two moons since the Dragon Pit. More than enough time for a highborn betrothal and wedding to take place. What if he still wanted her, but had already wed?

No, she told herself. Gendry was stubborn, moreso than anyone she knew, and he’d never marry just because of group of highborns told him to. If she returned to find him with a wife, it would be because he wanted it, not because some high handed lord wanted to install his daughter as the lady of Storm’s End.

Her stomach rolled, but she couldn’t tell if it was more from the thought of Gendry willingly married to some nameless perfumed lady or their child moving within her. Most likely a bit of both. She pressed one hand against her belly, worried that the babe could somehow feel her anxiety.

“It’s all right, little one,” she whispered. “Even if he doesn’t want me, I promise he’ll want you.” 

He never had a family. That’s what he’d said before being ripped away from her all those years ago. She’d struggled with that a lot over the last two weeks. Giving him a family. Being a mother. It wasn’t that she was exactly unhappy about carrying his child, but it was definitely not the way she would have chosen to go about it. If she’d had her wits about her in Winterfell, she would have drank moon tea, but the chaos of the battle and its aftermath and her determination to not think about her time with Gendry had left her without any recognition of the need for it.

And now, she was facing the repercussions of that. Repercussions that she still wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about. She’d spent almost every waking moment since her talk with Jarrad on the beach quarreling with herself, talking herself in circles.

Her first, visceral reaction to the discovery that she was with child was the desire to run straight to Gendry and throw herself at him. She’d be his wife. She’d be his lady. She’d be the mother of his child. She’d be whatever he needed her to be, and she’d _ want _ to, because he was her Gendry. 

But then those little persistent voices in the back of her head would start whispering _ You’d make a terrible mother. He didn’t really want you. Do you actually think you could be the lady of Storm’s End? He was drunk. You’re not a suitable wife. He’s probably moved on. You should run. Run. Run. Run. _

And she’d panic, certain he was going to reject her. That she’d finally reach his gate, only to find a Lady Baratheon, one hand in his and the other cradling her own stomach. That he’d turn his stormy blue eyes on her and all she’d see was fury. 

But then his face would surface, and his words would break through and Arya would feel a rush a relief as she remembered that Gendry would never lie to her. If he said he loved her, he loved her. And she would bask in the happy glow in her heart.

Until those voices started whispering again. 

Round and round and round she went. Swinging wildly between unwavering confidence and crippling doubt. 

But despite her internal struggle, Arya was resolute in her decision to go to him. Because he had to know, and this was something she could never keep from him. He’d never forgive her, and more importantly, she’d never forgive herself. If he turned her away, then she’d live with it, but she couldn’t live with herself if she kept their child a secret.

Her thoughts swirled as she watched Jack and the rest of the crew tie the ship off at the docks, and she clutched the small scroll in her hand a little tighter. 

Arya did not want to just appear at his castle with no warning, but this also wasn’t something she could reveal in a letter.

> _ Dear Gendry,  
We fucked and you put a babe in me. See you soon! _

No, this had to be done in person, but she wanted to give him notice. If he truly didn’t want to see her, then she was giving him the chance to leave. If he did want to see her, then she wouldn’t blindside him with her appearance. Either way, he’d be prepared, even if she wasn’t.

“Captain?” She turned to see Maester Jarrad looking at her expectantly. “Are you ready?”

Taking a deep breath, she joined him on the deck and turned to the rest of the crew. “You have six hours. If you’re not back on the ship by then, I’m leaving you behind.” Most of them immediately disembarked and headed towards a nearby tavern, a few wandering off down the street in search of what she assumed were more carnal pleasures. For a group of sailors who had all signed up for an unknown fate, they seemed extremely pleased to be back in the known world.

Arya stepped off the _ Nymeria _ and followed Jarrad down the dock. Together, they made their way through the streets along the Honeywine River until they had reached the complex of buildings that made up the Citadel. 

She had wanted to stop at the Arbor or Blackcrown or Three Towers to send her raven, somewhere that wouldn’t require a detour and where they could be on their way as soon as possible. But then Jarrad had told her that as part of the Reach those places wouldn’t keep a Storm’s End raven, and so she had to reluctantly add another day to her journey to sail up the Whispering Sound to the Citadel.

“Almost there, captain.” The maester turned back to look at her and paused as he waited for her to catch up. She tired much more quickly these days, often feeling fatigued from a short sparring session, and in just two weeks her stomach had gone from looking like she’d eaten a bit too much for dinner to a clearly visible bump. Even if she’d never asked about the butterflies, her pregnancy would have become obvious to everyone on the ship soon enough.

Most of them treated her differently now, refusing to let her lift anything or assist with any duties more strenuous than peeling potatoes. One of the older men blushed scarlet every time he caught a glimpse of her protruding belly, and a few of the younger ones had leered at her whispering innuendos where they thought she couldn’t hear. Until she’d nearly taken one of their heads off with Needle. She was grateful for the few women on board, as most of them were older and several of them were mothers themselves. They didn’t patronize her or treat her like glass, but they were considerate and kind and willing to answer any of her questions. 

It was one of these women, Alara, the cook with the striking blue eyes that had convinced her to write to Gendry, to let him know she was coming. She’d even helped Arya with the wording after finding her in her cabin agonizing over her tenth attempt at getting the words right. 

After several tries, they’d finally composed a letter that Arya deemed adequate. No words would have ever been able to convey everything, but she felt the scroll in her hand said what was necessary. 

> _ Gendry,   
_ _ I know that I have no right to ask anything of you, not after what I did. But I ask that you would please see me as I need to speak with you on a matter of some importance. I am sending this from Oldtown, and I hope to be in Storm’s End within the next fortnight.   
_-Arya

“There it is, captain.” Jarrad was standing on the edge of the riverbank, pointing at a castle on an island. “The Isle of Ravens. We will find your Storm’s End raven there.” 

She followed him across the wooden bridge, past the ancient Weirwood, and into the tower. She watched as the maester on duty tied the scroll addressed to _ Lord Gendry Baratheon, Storm’s End _ to a raven and released it, carrying her message and her heart with it.

Once they’d crossed back over the bridge, Jarrad led her to a small nearby tavern where she'd tried to eat a bowl of stew before heading back to the ship. But her appetite had disappeared the moment the raven took flight, her anxiety returning, pulling her stomach into knots. 

It was done. In four days or so, once the raven had winged its way across Westeros, he would know she was coming, and either he would welcome her or not. And now there was nothing more for her to do except board the _ Nymeria _ and sail to her fate.

***

It took just a shade under a week for them to reach the tip of Cape Wrath, but Jack had declared the waters of Shipbreaker Bay too treacherous to cross. The winter storms had whipped the waves into a frothing, angry mess, and no matter how much Arya tried to convince him otherwise, her first mate refused to risk the journey through the notorious waters. So they were sailing past Shipbreaker Bay to the isle of Tarth where they would dock in the hopes that Lord Selwyn, Ser Brienne’s father could provide them with a smaller ship more suited to navigating the rocks near Storm’s End.

Arya was standing on the deck, leaning over the edge of the ship, squinting into the distance. She had almost convinced herself that she could just make out the round fortress high on a cliff far in the distance when she felt a presence beside her. She turned to see Alara standing next to her, holding out a plate of meat and cheese. The cook had taken an almost maternal role in her life recently, bringing her food, answering her questions, and just generally caring for her. Arya shook her head at the proffered plate, and Alara made a disapproving noise. 

“You should eat, captain,” she said. “The babe needs nurturing to grow.”

Arya turned back to the waves. “I’m too anxious to eat. My stomach just will not settle, and the closer we get, the worse it gets. And then the babe moves, and I can’t stop worrying about seeing Gendry and what he’ll do when we arrive, and-”

The older woman sighed. “Arya,” she said, catching her attention. “You cannot dwell on those thoughts. What’s done is done, and fretting over it will not change what is coming.”

She watched the waves silently for a moment before turning to Alara. “What if he doesn’t want me anymore?” she asked softly. “What if he does, and I ruin everything? I’m not good enough. I don’t know how to be a mother or a wife or any of that. I don’t know how to do anything except kill, and I don’t think I’m capable of anything else.”

Alara put one hand on her hip and fixed Arya with a piercing stare. “Young lady, do you think anyone knows how to be a mother or a wife before they become one? Not a one of us, from smallfolk to highborn have any idea how to do it until we do it. You learn as you go, and if what you’ve told me about Lord Baratheon is true, then he’ll be with you every step of the way, no matter what.”

“But I’m not-”

“What would you think, captain," Alara interrupted, "if Maester Jarrad told you that you would make an awful mother? Or if Jack said you’d be a frightful wife?”

Arya jerked her head back. “I’d- I’d think them cruel and unkind, and I’d probably try to stab them with my dagger.”

Alara nodded. “So, why is it,” she asked, “if someone else said those things to you it makes them monstrous and hateful, but when you say them to yourself it’s perfectly reasonable?”

She didn’t have anything to say to that. 

“Now eat, captain,” the older woman said, shoving the plate of food in Arya’s hands. “We should be at Evenfall Hall within the next two hours.” And she left Arya alone on the deck with nothing but her thoughts and a plate of meat and cheese.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have gone round and round with the books and the wiki and for the life of me, I cannot figure out if Shipbreaker Bay is a safe place to sail into or not.
> 
> The line about letting yourself say things you'd never tolerate from others is a play on the line "Why is it if some dude walked up to me on the subway platform and said these things, I would think he was a mentally ill asshole, But if the vampire inside my head says it, It's the voice of reason" from the song "Die, Vampire, Die" from the musical Title of Show.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Changing the rating now for possible future stuff.

It was almost dusk when they finally reached the shores in front of Evenfall Hall. From the deck, Arya could see two figures waiting as they approached the dock. One, standing tall in shining silver armor, the other wrapped in a heavy cloak, and as they drew nearer she was delighted to realize that the taller figure was Ser Brienne.

The moment the  _ Nymeria  _ pulled in to port, Arya clambered down off the ship and was rushing to meet Brienne. She hadn’t realized how much she missed seeing a familiar face and almost made to hug the taller woman when she remembered how formal the knight could be and pulled herself short, settling on a wide grin instead. 

“Lady Arya,” Brienne gave a quick bow. “We were surprised to hear reports of a ship sailing towards our shores bearing Stark sails. I had heard you were-” Her voice cut off abruptly, her gaze locked near Arya’s midsection.

Arya flushed slightly, and her arms came up to wrap protectively around her swelling stomach. “I had a change of plans,” she said. “I need to borrow a ship that is capable of sailing as near to Storm’s End as you can get me.”

Ser Brienne stared at her, eyes darting between her face and her stomach. “Storm’s End?” she repeated, her eyebrows furrowed in thought.

Arya nodded. “Aye, Storm’s End.”

The taller woman’s mouth opened slightly and her eyes widened as the implication of Arya’s destination seemed to hit her. Brienne clamped her mouth shut, nodded, and turned to the older man standing beside her. 

“Lady Arya, may I present my father, Lord Selwyn Tarth.”

Lord Selwyn was not quite as tall as his daughter, but he had the same coloring, the same broad shoulders, and the same reserved expression on his face. He gave her a short bow before offering her an arm. “Lady Arya,” he said, turning to lead her down the dock. “My daughter has spoken very highly of you, and I am pleased to make your acquaintance. The doors of our castle are open wide to you and your crew, and our ships are at your disposal.”

“It’s just Arya,” she smiled up at him and stopped walking. “Thank you for receiving us on such short notice.” She hesitated, struggling to find the words. “If it’s not too much trouble,” she said quietly, “could I ask if there have been any significant developments at Storm’s End lately?”

He turned to face her, dropping her arm, eyes drifting down to her belly. He looked back up and seemed to consider her for a long moment before speaking. “There have been many reports of a wide variety of ladies visiting Storm’s End, but to my knowledge none have stayed very long. I can tell you that there has been no official announcement of any type of...alliance from our new Lord Paramount. Other than that, I have no news, Lady Arya.”

A great, heavy stone rolled off of her chest, and Arya took what felt like her first real breath in weeks. “It’s just Arya, Lord Selwyn. And thank you.”

Behind her, Maester Jarrad, Jack, Alara, and the rest of the crew had disembarked and were lingering on the dock, unsure of where to go. Arya glanced back at them, and gave a jerk of her head, beckoning them to her. Introductions were quickly made, and they were soon climbing the stairs to the castle perched high above them.

***

The great hall was filled with laughter and music as her crew relaxed around the long tables laden with food. Ser Brienne was sitting next to her, watching the group of sailors with a wistful expression on her face. 

“Why are you here in Tarth, Ser Brienne, and not in King’s Landing or Winterfell?”

The knight turned to her and gave her a small smile. “Your brother. His grace gave me leave to visit my father. Ordered me, really. I only arrived a week ago.”

“Bran sent you?” 

Brienne nodded. “Yes, my lady. He told me that my presence would be most welcome in Tarth. When my visit here has concluded, I will be returning to your sister’s service in Winterfell.” Her eyes flashed with amusement. “His grace informed me that I would have news to carry north.”

Arya blinked.  _ That little shit. _ “He knew I was coming,” she stated, shaking her head in disbelief. “How is he? Is he still…” She didn’t know how to describe the emotionless shell that was once her brother.

“He is...as enigmatic as ever, my lady,” Brienne said slowly. “But, I do believe I heard him make a jest at Lord Tyrion’s expense before I left.”

Smiling softly, Arya nodded. “Perhaps he will come back to himself in time.”

“Perhaps.” Brienne looked up as Jack came to sit across from them, his eyes wide as he stared at the taller woman.

“Captain,” he nodded at Arya before fixing his gaze on Brienne. “I’ve never met a lady knight before.”

“That’s because Ser Brienne is the first,” Arya told him grinning. “And don’t you doubt for a moment that she deserves that title.”

Jack shook his head. “Wasn’t doubting it, captain. Just wanted to introduce myself to such a fine warrior.”

Brienne flushed and nodded stiffly at him. “Thank you,” she said before turning to Arya. “I need to see to your accommodations. I’ll have someone show you to your room shortly.”

“Thank you, Ser Brienne.” 

Arya watched the taller woman leave before turning back to her first mate. 

“Why’s it so cold here, captain?” he asked, reaching for a large piece of bread.

“You call this cold? This is a gentle chill, barely cool enough for a summer snow.” She scoffed. “It’s cold because it’s winter, Jack.”

He furrowed his brow at her. “But didn’t you like, kill winter or something?” he asked as Jarrad slid onto the bench beside him. 

“Ending the long night did not end winter,” the maester said before Arya could respond. “We can hope that the captain’s defeat of the night king had the effect of shortening the current winter, as it is expected to be both long and harsh after so many years of summer, but we cannot know for sure.”

“Oh,” her first mate frowned down at the table, clearly thinking. He looked up at her, opened his mouth, closed it, and pursed his lips. 

“Out with it, Jack.” Arya said. “What is it?”

Jack sighed. “I was just wondering what your plans were.” His eyes flicked down briefly to her stomach. “What should we do now?”

Arya looked between Jack and the maester, both looking at her expectantly. 

“I was wondering that myself, captain.” Alara climbed over the bench to settle next to her. 

She was at a loss. “I- I’m not sure,” she confessed. “I suppose we should wait and see how tomorrow goes first. Ser Brienne has arranged for a boat to leave at first light.” She faltered. “If I am welcome at Storm’s End, then…” She trailed off, looking at her crew mates with a new curiosity. What would they want to do? “Why did you join me? Why did you sign up for a voyage like this? There was no guarantee we would ever return. Why board a ship with an unknown destination?”

They were all quiet for a moment, thoughtful expressions on their faces. Jack spoke first. “Spent my life on boats. Don’t know anything but the sea really.” He shrugged. “I figured I seen the Narrow Sea enough for anyone, why not sail the Sunset Sea. Have a new adventure.” 

Jarrad nodded. “A new adventure,” he echoed. “The Citadel knows almost nothing about the west. You presented me with an opportunity to expand our knowledge.” He paused, looking at her uncertainly. “I can’t deny being a little disappointed in the change of course, but I have to confess, captain, I’m a little relieved that your situation brought you back to Westeros.”

Arya jerked her head back, surprised at his statement. “Relieved? Why?”

He gazed at her thoughtfully. “I could tell you were hurting, captain. That you were running from something. Wasn’t my place to question, but in my opinion, a young woman with her whole life in front of her shouldn’t be setting off on a journey that would most likely kill her. It seemed a waste of your potential, Arya Stark, Bringer of the Dawn.”

She flushed, a little ashamed at the truth of his words. Brushing it aside, she turned to Alara. “What about you?”

The older woman looked at her for a long moment. “My husband died in the ashes of King’s Landing. My only son died when the Sept of Baelor exploded. He had the misfortune to be nearby when the wildfire ignited.” She gazed down at her hands on the table, fiddling with a knife.

Arya’s heart clenched in sympathy for her friend. “I’m so sorry, Alara. I didn’t know.”

“It’s all right, captain,” she said waving a hand vaguely. “Point is, you were running, and so was I. King’s Landing had brought me nothing but heartache and sorrow, and you offered me a way out. And if I died on the journey, then so be it.” She paused, eyes still downcast. “If I’m honest, I was hoping that would be my fate. Death at sea.” She turned to look at Arya. “But now, I’m grateful for this babe. It forced me to see the truth of it. Running from troubles doesn’t do anything but make you tired and troubled.”

Arya stared at her. “I think,” she said quietly, “you might be right. I was running. Running from my family and from Gendry and all of it, and by the time we reached those islands, I was just exhausted.” She glanced at Jarrad and Jack. “I told myself I wanted a new adventure, but that wasn’t true. I just-” She bit her lip, thinking. “So much of my life has been tied up in death, I think I was just afraid to live.” She dropped a hand to rest against the bump under her clothes and sighed. 

“So, captain,” Jack said after a moment. “What would you have us do?” 

She considered him. “Would you still like to have your adventure?” 

His eyes lit up, but then creased in concern. “You’re not planning on accompanying us, are you?” 

She shook her head. “No matter what happens tomorrow, I’ll not be sailing off into the Sunset Sea again.” She felt a sharp movement in her stomach and smiled, pressing her hand against it. “I’ll be otherwise engaged for a while.”

Jack grinned at her and picked up his mug to take a large swig of ale. “Thank you, captain.” He turned to glance at the rest of the crew behind him who seemed to be engaged in some kind of complicated drinking game. “We might have to pick up a few more men. Some of them are second guessing this journey now that they’re back on land.” 

Alara cleared her throat, and they turned to look at her. “I won’t be going with you, Jack. You’ll need to find another cook.” He nodded in acknowledgement and climbed from his seat to join the other sailors. Jarrad stood and followed, nodding at the two women as he took his leave.

Arya turned to look at her friend. “Where will you go? Not back to King’s Landing, I think.” 

The older woman smiled hesitantly at her. “With you, if you’ll have me, captain.”

Arya shook her head. “It’s not ‘captain’ anymore, Alara. It’s just Arya. And I would be honored.” She paused. “I don’t know what tomorrow will bring. If...if I cannot stay in the Stormlands, then I will return to Winterfell. Either way, I will find a place for you.”

***

The small ship cut through the waves, making for a small stretch of sand at the foot of a towering cliff. Arya stood, wrapped in a heavy cloak, watching as they drew closer. In the distance, she could see the round fortress of Storm’s End jutting up into the sky like a raised fist, and her chest constricted with nervous energy. 

“I’m sorry we can’t get you any closer than this, my lady.” Ser Brienne apologized beside her. “Our men say this is the safest place to land.” She pointed at the side of the cliff. “There’s a path cut into the rocks that will take us to the top. It’s about three miles from there to the castle, so we should be there within a few hours.”

Arya nodded wordlessly. The combination of the rolling waves, her nerves, and the babe’s movement had her afraid to open her mouth, lest something other than words emerge.

The cliffs grew taller and taller in front of her and soon enough, the small ship had bumped against the shore and the Tarth men had secured it on the sand and were helping her down from the deck. She looked up at the rocks looming over her and took a deep breath. She would know her fate soon enough.

***

The climb up the side of the cliffs was not particularly steep, no moreso than a flight of stairs, but there were so many that they’d had to stop to catch their breath several times. By the time they reached the top Arya, Brienne, and the two Tarth men accompanying them were all breathing heavily from the exertion. Grateful for a moment’s rest, Arya dropped to the ground, hands moving to massage her swollen stomach as she looked around at the surrounding countryside. 

The path had emerged onto a small road that hugged the rocky edge of the cliff on one side and a copse of lush green trees on the other. She could not see the fortress from where she was, but the view of the stormy waters of Shipbreaker Bay to the south and the startling blue of the Straits of Tarth in the distance to the north was astonishing. Arya breathed in deeply, inhaling the salty sea air. 

Could she make this place her home? It was beautiful and wild, and she could see a grey cloud moving in slowly from the south, bringing a light rain with it, no doubt. Her breath misted in front of her in the cold, and she smiled as her eyes drank in the stormy waters beneath her. She was almost there.

“Lady Arya?” She looked up to see Brienne standing over her, holding out a hand. “Are you ready to continue?” 

She took a deep breath, willing her nerves to settle and nodded, grabbing Brienne’s hand to pull herself up. “On to Storm’s End,” she said softly, looking down at her belly. “Nearly there, little one,” she whispered, smiling when she felt movement within. She glanced up at Brienne who was looking at her with a soft smile. 

“Let’s get going then,” the knight said briskly, and Arya started moving, leading the way to Gendry’s castle.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mixing in some book canon here.

As they rounded the edge of the forest, the top of Storm’s End came into view over the crest of a hill perhaps a mile away, and Arya halted, her heart suddenly pounding with a fearful anticipation. Would she find him at home, awaiting her arrival? Would a messenger meet her at the gate to gently turn her away? Now that she was within sight of his home, she had the terrible desire to turn and flee, as if that would somehow protect her heart from breaking.

Drawing herself up, she forced her feet to keep moving. She’d killed the night king, for gods’ sake, she shouldn’t be afraid of Gendry. She was so lost in her thoughts, she didn’t notice the guard up ahead until he hailed them. He was standing in the middle of the road and wearing a black and gold cloak, Baratheon colors. 

She crossed her arms over her chest, pulling her cloak together to hide the swell in her belly with the heavy fabric. Arya didn’t want a random Baratheon guard realizing her condition before she was able to tell Gendry. He looked at them curiously as they approached, his eyes flicking from Brienne to the Tarth men, and then to her. 

The guard appeared to be appraising her carefully. “Might you be Arya Stark?” he asked, tilting his head.

She blinked, then nodded. She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could utter a single word, the guard grabbed a horn from his belt, raised it to his lips and blew three long blasts into the air. After a short moment, she heard an echoing three blasts from the direction of the castle. 

The guard grinned at her, and tucked the horn back into his belt. “Shouldn’t be long now. Lord Baratheon’s had someone stationed out here since your raven arrived three days ago.”

She inhaled sharply, feeling a sudden warmth erupt in her chest. “He- he has?”

“Aye,” he said nodding. “Here, and on the Kingsroad and on the road to the south. Weren’t sure which direction you’d come from.”

“Oh.” She took a deep breath. “So... he’s been waiting for me then?”

The guard laughed. “You could say that. I’ve never seen him in such a state. Storming around the castle, yelling at everyone who dared cross his path.” He leaned in confidentially, “Spent the first day in the forge beating the shit out of something, but he seemed to settle after that.”

She was suddenly finding it very hard to breathe. He’d been watching for her, set scouts to alert him the moment she arrived, as if he couldn’t wait to see her. But then he was angry. Did he just want to yell at her before turning her away?

A horn sounded again, and the guard turned to the castle. “Ah, here he comes.” In the distance, she could see a horse crest over the hill. It was drawing closer by the second, galloping full tilt towards them. A few moments later, a second horse appeared. 

The guard took a step towards the approaching riders. “Who is that he’s brought with him?” he mused, squinting into the distance. “Ah,” he said after a moment. “It’s Lady Mya.”

Arya whipped her head back to stare at him. “Lady Mya?” she asked, a terror spreading through her.

He nodded, not looking at her but peering towards the castle as if he was expecting someone else. “Lady Mya Baratheon.”

_ Oh gods. _ Her heart sank, and she felt her stomach give an almighty lurch.

“Looks like Lady Bella stayed behind though.”

She kept staring at him. “Lady Bella?” she echoed.

He nodded again. “Lady Bella Baratheon.”

_ What? Two of them? _

She looked back at the road and saw a third horse appear. “It appears that Lord Edric decided to tag along as well,” the guard observed, grinning as she turned back to him.

“Lord Edric?” She was apparently only capable of repeating whatever names the guard said.

“Lord Edric Baratheon.” 

_ What? _

She could only stare at him stupidly for a moment, thoroughly bewildered. The growing sound of hoofbeats wrenched her attention back to the road, and there he was, riding towards her like the night king himself was after him. He pulled the reins back and was sliding awkwardly off the horse’s back before it had even come to a complete stop.

His gaze was on her face, and he strode towards her, a look of terrified hope in his eyes. Gendry halted just three feet in front of her, eyes locked on hers. She heard the second horse stop, but she could not tear her eyes away from him.

They were both breathing heavily, chests rising and falling as they stared at each other. 

“Arya,” he breathed, and she felt the corners of her mouth twitch up into a brief smile. He started to move closer, but stopped himself. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath before opening them again. “Arya,” he said quietly, “are you here for me?”

She knew what he was asking, and she nodded. “If you’ll have us,” she replied, eyes searching his. 

And then he was kissing her, hands cradling her face, and she melted into him in relief, her hands moving to his waist. His arms dropped to wrap around her, pulling her close. As he tugged her to him, her belly bumped against him, and he started. Pulling back, she saw his eyes drop down and then widen comically before snapping back to hers. 

He took a step back, and she dropped her arms to her side, fully revealing the outcome of those stolen hours on a pile of grain sacks. Gendry looked up at her, then down at her stomach, then back at her. “Us?” he whispered, eyes wide and face stunned.

Biting her lip, she nodded, raising a hand to rest it on the swell. “Us,” she confirmed.

Gendry raised a shaking hand, stretching it out but halted inches away, retracting his fingers, and looked up at her uncertainly. Grabbing his hand, she pulled it towards her and placed it on her stomach. He stared at her, disbelief all over his face, and she smiled. They might have been in that position forever for all she knew, standing close, his hand on her, eyes locked, when a peal of laughter broke the spell.

They both turned to the laughing woman, Arya suddenly remembering they were not alone. “For fuck’s sake, Gendry. You put a babe in her after one time?”

“Two times,” they said simultaneously. They glanced at each other, both blushing slightly as they did. 

The woman laughed harder, and Arya’s sense of utter confusion returned. If this was Lady Mya Baratheon, then was she not Gendry’s wife? If she was his wife, why was she laughing?

The sound of hooves once again drew her attention back to the road, and she watched as a man with a striking similarity to Gendry rode up and dismounted his horse. 

“What’d I miss?” he said as he came up to stand beside Mya who was still laughing. Mya, who Arya now realized had jet black hair and bright blue eyes pointed at Arya’s stomach, giggling. He turned to look at her, and when he saw the telltale bump, he started laughing as well. 

He looked at Gendry who was still standing with one hand on her stomach. “After one time?”

“Two times,” Gendry muttered, scowling at him. 

Arya looked from Gendry to the laughing pair and back again, her mind cataloging the similarities between the three of them. “Gendry?” 

He turned to look at her and saw the confusion on her face. He sighed. “Arya, meet Mya and Edric. My siblings. Half siblings.”

“Siblings? But I thought the Lannisters…”

Gendry shook his head. “A few managed to slip through their fingers. Your brother found them for me. Bella’s at the castle.” He looked at her sheepishly. “You’ve actually met her before. Do you remember the Peach?”

Arya thought back to that brief visit to the ‘inn with girls’ with the Brotherhood and remembered a black headed girl claiming to be Robert Baratheon’s bastard. “So she was your sister?” Then she remembered how the girl had offered to ‘ring his bell’ and she paled.

He shook his head immediately, answering her unspoken question. She let out a heavy breath and turned to give his siblings a hesitant smile. They both grinned at her, Edric bowing deeply and Mya giving an awkward curtsy. 

Mya was tall with short black hair, and she was dressed in leathers, similar to those Arya wore before she’d had to borrow breeches from one of her crew. Her face was pretty, and her blue eyes were sparkling with mirth. Arya could tell immediately that she was going to like Mya very much. 

Turning to Edric, her first impression was that he was shockingly similar to Gendry, but the longer she looked the more differences she could see. He was shorter and not nearly as broad or muscled. His ears stuck out, and his facial features were softer, less defined. The way he held himself was different too, more...polished as if he’d spent his life in fine silks, surrounded by servants.

“Welcome to Storm’s End, Lady Arya,” Edric said, smiling at her.

“It’s just Arya,” Gendry said before she could respond. 

Mya suddenly gave a little shout, and Arya turned to see her gazing at a spot somewhere behind her with a rapt expression on her face. Arya looked over her shoulder to see Brienne standing there, stiff as ever. 

“You’re Ser Brienne of Tarth!” Mya exclaimed, delighted. She pushed past Arya to accost the knight and started peppering questions at her. Edric quickly moved to stand beside his sister, trying to speak over her, and Arya was amused to see Brienne looking around wildly, as if trying to find an escape.

Grateful that his siblings’ attention was no longer on her, Arya turned back to Gendry. There was so much she needed to say to him, but she didn’t want to do any of it in front of others. He was looking down at her, an odd expression on his face. They’d always been able to communicate without words, and it seemed that he still knew exactly what she was trying to say without needing to actually say it. 

“Come on,” he said quietly. “Let’s go while they’re distracted.” He grabbed her hand and turned to the guard, “Simon, I’m taking Arya back. I’ll send someone along with horses for Ser Brienne and her men shortly.”

Leading her over to his horse, Gendry turned and met her eyes before dropping his gaze down to her stomach. Shaking his head slightly, he looked back up at her. “Are you really here?” he whispered, his eyes searching hers. He didn’t wait for her to answer, just moved and put his hands on her waist to help her up, then climbed up behind her before pulling the horse around and setting off towards the fortress.

They rode in silence for several minutes, her mind whirling with questions and apologies and explanations and so many things she wanted to say, but she just couldn’t bring herself to speak. Instead, she leaned back into his chest and closed her eyes. 

She’d missed him. More than she’d realized, and now that she was here, nestled against his chest, his arms on either side as he held the reins, she wondered how she could have ever been so stupid as to push him away. 

“I’m sorry,” she said softly.

He was quiet for a long moment. “Me too,” he said, leaning his head down to nuzzle against hers as one hand wrapped around her to settle on her stomach.

She had just opened her mouth to ask what he could possibly be sorry about when the babe moved forcefully and she flinched, a small grunt escaping her lips. 

Gendry jerked his hand away. “Are you all right?”

Arya grabbed his hand and placed it back on her belly. “I’m fine. They just moved. I’m still getting used to it.”

“They?”

“They. He. She. It,” she said. “The babe.” She twisted her head and shoulders around so she could look at his face. “Your babe.”

He pulled the horse to a stop and gazed down at her, a look of awe on his face. “A babe,” he repeated quietly, as if to convince himself that it was true. Then he frowned and nudged the horse gently to get it moving again. 

She turned back around, and sighed. They were drawing closer to the castle, and she probably only had a few minutes before his guards came out to meet them. 

After a moment, he tightened his arm around her slightly and gently stroked her stomach. “Is this why you came?”

“Yes.” She felt him tense up behind her. “And no.” 

He sighed heavily, but didn’t speak.

“Are you angry with me?” she asked quietly.

Gendry leaned in and whispered against her ear. “I’m fucking furious with you, Arya. But right now, I’m too thrilled that you’re here to even care.”

He pulled the horse up again and waited for her to twist back to look at him before speaking. “Before we get in there,” he nodded at the castle. “Before everyone looks at you and knows exactly why you’re here, I have to know.” His gaze was intense, and she felt a heat spread through her. “Are you going to stay?”

Arya stared up at him, the tension in his face and in the line of his shoulders almost palpable, and she nodded. “We’re staying, Gendry. I’m not running again. Not now.”

He closed his eyes and let out a heavy breath, his shoulders relaxing like they’d just dropped a heavy burden. Then he nodded and opened his eyes. “We still need to have a serious conversation, Arya.”

“I know.”

“I’m probably going to yell a lot.”

She gave him a wry smile. “That’s all right. I probably will too.”

He tilted his head to kiss her firmly on the forehead. “Right then. Bella’s been so excited to meet you, she’s probably about to piss herself waiting.” 

She laughed, feeling more content than she had in years. “Let’s not keep her waiting any longer then,  _ my lord.” _


	5. Chapter 5

Bella’s reaction to her swollen belly had been not a laugh, but a delighted squeal and a fierce hug. Although, she had immediately turned to Gendry and said dubiously, “One time?”

Ser Davos, who was serving as Gendry’s advisor looked at her stomach with a raised eyebrow and said dryly, “This is the matter of some importance, I take it?” before welcoming her warmly to Storm’s End, an odd look of relief on his face. 

The sudden appearance of Hot Pie had surprised her so much, she’d almost jumped when he materialized in front of her holding out a wolf shaped loaf, but his reaction to her pregnancy had amused her more than anyone’s. He’d been describing in great detail, the process of shaping the wolf’s snout when he cut himself off mid sentence, frowning at her middle. He’d looked up at her, then at Gendry, his face screwed up in deliberation. After about five seconds, he nodded to himself and then continued his explanation, apparently completely unfazed. 

After a few brief introductions, Gendry pulled her away from Bella’s enthusiastic questioning and led her by the hand through the halls to his chambers. Arya followed him quietly, her thoughts jumbled and chaotic, but the feel of his hand, solid and strong around hers, grounded her as she trailed after him.

When they finally reached his rooms and he’d shut the door behind them, they stood staring at each other, a heavy silence settling over them. Arya allowed herself to truly look at him now, and her eyes drank him in. He looked good, lordly almost in the finely cut leather doublet and thick Baratheon cloak. His hair had started growing out slightly, and there was a light stubble on his face as if he’d not shaved in a few days. But his eyes were tired and guarded, watching her with a combination of longing and anger and fear.

For several long moments, neither of them spoke, and she sighed, knowing things had to be said, no matter how painful.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated quietly.

“For what part exactly?” he said. “For leaving without saying a word? For ignoring me? For using me? For breaking my heart?” He huffed, a small laugh escaping his mouth. “Gods, Arya, you wouldn’t even  _ look _ at me in King’s Landing. Do you have any idea how that made me feel? First, you vanished from Winterfell, and all I could think was that it was my fault you’d left. Then the city burned and Daenerys and Jon, and I knew that’s where you’d gone, and I didn’t even know if you were still alive. But you were, and gods, Arya, I just wanted to  _ talk _ to you, to apologize, to explain, and you turned your back on me. After everything we’ve been through together, you turned your back on me.” 

He paused, breathing hard. “And then you just up and fucking left. Not a single word to me, Arya. No goodbye, no explanations, no ‘have a nice life.’ Just gone, and you know who told me you’d left?  _ Davos. _ He knew, and I didn’t. Just casually mentioned Arya Stark sailing away, and had I heard about your ‘adventure.’ Imagine how that felt. To learn that the person who had once been your best friend, the woman you’d poured your heart out to, the only family you’d ever had, had just...left. Probably forever, and there was nothing I could do about it because you didn’t even give me a chance.”

He glared at her accusingly, and guilt bloomed in her gut. She’d known she had hurt him really, but to hear him voice the things she had done flooded her with shame. He’d said so much, and she had so many things to apologize for that she didn’t even know where to start.

“It wasn’t your fault,” she said finally. “And I never meant to use you, not like you think.”

“Then how was it, Arya?” he snapped. “Because you said it yourself, you just wanted to know what it was like before you died.” He took a step closer to her and stopped. “Was that all it was to you? A new experience? Because you didn’t need me for that. You could have done that with anyone.”

She shook her head. “No. I couldn’t have done that with anyone.” She looked down for a beat, then back up at him. “Only you.”

Gendry seemed to deflate a bit at her words, his anger leaking out of him with a long breath. “Why me?”

Arya considered him for a moment, trying to decide how much to reveal. Then she sighed and drew herself up. She was here for a reason, and she’d told him she wasn’t running anymore. It was time for her to face the truth of it. “There’s never been anyone but you, Gendry,” she said quietly after moment. “Not since you were the only person who knew who I was, and you never even once thought about using that. Not since I was twelve and half in love with you. Not since you were stolen away, and I put Beric, Thoros, and the Red Witch on my list for taking you from me.”

She paused. “And then there you were at Winterfell, and you’d grown and I’d grown, and I realized what I never could have understood when I was younger, that I wanted you. And the way you looked at me, I thought maybe you wanted me too. And maybe I could have this one thing, just for one night, probably my last night, and that would be enough because we were about to die, so it didn’t matter if it was just sex.” 

“So it was just sex for you,” he said sharply.

“No! That’s what I’m trying to tell you. It could never have been ‘just sex,’ even if I wanted it to because it was you. And afterwards, I was confused and scared because it was perfect and so very good, and all those feelings I thought were gone just...burst out, and loving you was terrifying, even without the threat of imminent death, probably even more because we didn’t die. So I pushed it away, I pushed  _ you _ away because I didn’t think I was capable of loving anyone. I was cruel and heartless, and I’m so so sorry that I did because you didn’t deserve that.”   


Gendry had gone very still. “You- You love me?” 

Arya closed her eyes and whispered, “I do.” She looked up at Gendry to find him staring at her, a slightly stunned expression on his face. “More than I ever thought I was capable of.”

He started to reach for her, but pulled his hand back, frowning at her. “Then why’d you say no?”

“Because I was scared. Because you asked me for something I never thought I could give. Because I convinced myself that what happened between us meant nothing.” She glanced away and took a deep breath. “Because I thought it would be easier for you when I died.”

“When you  _ died?”  _ he repeated, aghast. 

“Why do you think I went to King’s Landing, Gendry?” she said harshly, and he flinched. “I didn’t plan on surviving.”

He stared at her for a long moment. “But you did survive. You survived, and you still shut me out. We were  _ friends _ , Arry. More than friends. You were the only person in the world I thought I could trust, and you  _ left _ .” 

He ran his hand over his hair. “Look, by then, I realized what I’d done. Proposing like that was a mistake. I was drunk and giddy and all I wanted was to tell you how I felt, and I get it. It was stupid of me. But I thought, even if she doesn’t love me, she’s still my friend, she’ll let me explain. But you didn’t. You just...left.” There was pain all over his face. “Arya, you broke my heart.”

She looked down at her hands. “I know, and I hated myself for doing it.” 

“So why? Why didn’t you talk to me at the Dragon Pit?”

Arya sighed. “I don’t know if I can explain what I was thinking exactly. Jon had been banished, and Bran was  _ king _ and Sansa queen, and I just- I didn’t want to face any of it. And there you were, looking so utterly perfect, and I knew that if I talked to you, I wouldn’t be able to leave. So I told myself that you’d come to your senses, you’d see what I already knew, that loving me could only end badly for you.”

“Why would it end badly?”

She let out a long breath and swayed on her feet before she could answer. Gendry was beside her instantly, supporting her. “Are you all right?” 

“I’m just tired.” She looked up at him as he led her over to a small couch to sit down. “I know we’re not done with this, but can we take a break? Just for a minute?”

His face twisted in concern, eyes dropping to the swell under her shirt. “Gods, of course. I didn’t think.”

She reached out to grab his hand. “Thank you,” she said softly. 

Gendry looked down at their joined hands, a small smile on his face. Lifting her hand to his lips, he pressed a gentle kiss to her knuckles before pulling her to lean against his chest. Arya closed her eyes and burrowed into him, smiling when she felt his arms wrap around her.

“So you’ve got siblings,” she said after a minute.

“I do.”

“Who you told about me.”

“I did.” 

“Was that before or after my raven?”

He was silent for a moment. “Both. They knew there was...someone, but not who it was.” He paused. “Although, to be fair, they figured it out as soon as your raven arrived without me actually saying it, and then that night I got drunk and they got it out of me.”

“Ah. You said Bran found them? How’d that happen?”

Gendry chuckled. “I asked him to look for them, before I left King’s Landing. Something Tyrion said made me wonder, about Robert Baratheon and ‘making the eight,’ and I realized that with as many bastards he’d made in King’s Landing there had to be others out there.

“Turns out Edric grew up here at Storm’s End until he was about twelve, knew who his father was and everything. Renly sent him away when all the fighting started, and he’s been in Lys for the past eight years or so waiting everything out. He actually turned up about a week after I got here. Then Bran found Mya and Bella, and they’ve been here about four weeks.”

She smiled to herself. “They seem nice.”

“They are,” he said. “It’s been...strange. Never having a family, and then all of a sudden there’s three other people who look like you.” His hand dropped to her stomach, his fingers rubbing small circles against her tunic, and she heard him sigh softly.

“I asked you once,” she said quietly, “to be my family, and you turned me down.”

Gendry was quiet for a long moment. “You never cared about me being a bastard, Arya, but the world did. I knew what would happen if we had made it to Riverrun, to your mother and your brother. They would have put an end to our friendship.”

She sat up and turned to look at him. “You don’t know that.”

“A princess and a bastard blacksmith?” He scoffed. “You’d have been betrothed to some lord in exchange for armies in about two seconds, and if I was lucky, I might have gotten to say goodbye.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but he continued.

“You don’t know what it’s like, Arya, being a bastard, a baseborn bastard. It’s the lowest of the low, and there’s no way around it. You told me how your mother treated Jon. How do you think she would have treated me? Especially if she thought there was something between us?”

She thought about her mother scowling at Jon and her seemingly endless attempts to turn Arya into a proper young lady, and she knew he was right.

Gendry smiled sadly at her. “Why do you think I proposed the minute I was worthy of you?”

“You were  _ always _ worthy, Gendry!” she said hotly. “A name didn’t change that.”

“Gods, Arya, don’t you see?” He leaned forward and cupped her face in his hands. “For all your insisting that you’re not a lady, you still are. You’re a Stark, one of the oldest houses in Westeros, and I’m-” He looked away from her and drew in a shaky breath. “I was about to go to you, to tell you...something. I couldn’t even tell you what. I just knew we’d survived, and I thought maybe I’d work up the nerve to tell you how I felt, but then she stopped me and just- just made me a fucking lord. Just like that. One second, I’m a bastard. Next second I’m a lord.”

He dropped his hands from her face and sighed. “Can you even begin to imagine how I felt? I’d found you again, and you were everything I ever hoped you’d grow into. Beautiful and fierce and strong and more. And you wanted me, or at least I thought you did. My wonderful, amazing best friend wanted me, and what more could I ask for because someone had just handed me the key to being with you forever. Being with you for real, in a way that no one could ever look down on you for.”

“But then..” He trailed off, a flash of pain crossed his face before he shook his head and continued. “I woke up the next morning, hungover, and I tried to find you to explain, to say things the right way, but you’d already left.”

Arya tilted her head, curious. “What would have been the right way?”

Gendry sighed. “Can I try to explain something first?”

She nodded.

“How many ladies, proper highborn ladies, do you think I’d met? Before coming to Winterfell, I mean.”

Arya scrunched up her forehead, thinking, and then she shook her head.

“I’d seen them on the streets in King’s Landing, but the only lady I’ve ever spent any time with was you. And I know you’re unusual, but when I think of a lady, it’s you. You don’t simper and curtsy or twist your words to hide what you mean to say. You wield a sword and wear breeches and you tell me when I’m being stupid. You know so many things that I don’t, and you care about people. You care about the smallfolk and the servants just as much as the highborns, probably more. You defend those who can’t defend themselves, and gods help anyone who tries to cross you because you’re probably the most dangerous person I’ve ever met.”

He reached out and took her hand. “When I got here, it took less than three days for the lords to start arriving. My-” he laughed, “my bannermen. And every single one of them had a daughter or a niece or a cousin who just happened to come along. And they were all so... _ perfect _ .” 

She bristled, but he continued before she could speak. “They had perfect hair and perfect dresses and perfect manners. They curtsied and flattered and batted their lashes at me, twisting their words and never saying what they meant, and I finally realized that was what you thought I was asking of you.”

He shook his head. “Arya, I wasn’t asking you to be that kind of lady. I was asking you to be  _ my _ lady, exactly as you are. To stand beside me and fight with me and rule with me. I didn’t know the first thing about being a lord, still don’t really. But you did, and that’s what I wanted because I didn’t think I could do it without you. I didn’t want to do it without you. And I’m still angry, probably will be for a while, but I still don’t want to do it without you.” He stretched his hand out to cup her cheek, thumb stroking away a tear that she hadn’t realized was there.

She looked at him, eyes searching his. Her chest felt both heavy and light, and she thought she might float away if not for his hand holding her there. There was more to be said between them, more apologies and explanations, but that could wait for later.

“Ask me again,” she said softly, gazing at him. “Ask me the right way.”

Gendry inhaled sharply, then leaned forward and pressed his forehead against hers. “I don’t know a lot, Arya. But I know that I love you and that I want you with me. So be with me? Be my family?”

Arya took a deep breath. One word. That’s all it was. One word that was both the easiest and hardest thing she’d ever have to say. She let out her breath slowly and shakily.

“Yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These two idiots have a lot to work through, and I hope that I managed at least some of it.


	6. Chapter 6

They sat curled together on the small couch in his chambers, hands clasped over her stomach. 

“So you’re with child.” His tone was almost observational, as if he was remarking on the weather, but she could hear the uncertainty beneath it.

Arya smiled. “I am.”

“My child.”

“_Our _ child,” she corrected.

She turned to see a smile spread across his face. “Our child,” he repeated softly to himself, then he frowned slightly. “Are you...happy about this?”

Arya considered his question for a moment. “I’m not unhappy about it,” she said slowly. “I can’t say that I’m thrilled to have gotten pregnant from my first time. Or second,” she added smirking. “I’m only eighteen, and I didn’t know if I wanted children, or even if I could actually have them. Not after…” she trailed off, and his fingers tightened around hers.  
  
“The scars?” he asked. 

“The scars,” she confirmed, leaning back into him. She was quiet for a moment, considering how to best explain it all. “I thought I was sick,” she said finally. “Actually, I thought I had butterfly fever.”

“Butterfly fever?” He sounded confused.

“That’s what it felt like, the babe moving inside me. Like a butterfly.” Arya chuckled. “It never occurred to me that we could have... Butterfly fever seemed like the most logical explanation. Of course, Jarrad, the maester, realized what it was almost immediately.” She turned around to meet his eyes, wanting him to understand. “It took me maybe five minutes to decide that whatever was west of Westeros could just fuck off without me, and that I was coming back to you.”

Gendry smiled at her, and she continued. “I still don’t entirely know how I feel about this. I’m not sad or upset about it, and it’s not how I would have chosen things to happen. But I’m...at peace with it.”

He nodded at her, his expression thoughtful, and she realized something. “How do you feel about this?” she asked tentatively. “Are you...happy?”

He studied her for a moment. “To be honest, I keep expecting to wake up. Having you here, with me... I dreamt of this. I’ve dreamt of this too,” he said pressing gently against her belly before chuckling. “You’re right, though. It’s definitely not how I would have ever thought things would go, but yes, Arya, I’m happy.”

A warmth spread through her, and she pulled herself up to kiss him. He wrapped his arms around her, drawing her onto his lap before moving his mouth down to nuzzle against her neck. “Gods, I missed you,” he said into her skin as he pressed gentle kisses against her collarbone.

“I missed you too,” she said breathily. His hands slid down to her waist, toying with her belt, and she felt a heat begin to pool deep inside her. She had missed him, and now that she was here, Arya wanted nothing more than to feel his hands on her again. She moved, swinging her legs around and settling one knee on either side of him, straddling his legs.

Her fingers worked quickly, reaching out to unlace his doublet as he mirrored her actions, her own jacket dropping to the ground behind her. Gendry’s hands had just slipped up underneath her tunic and brushed against her sides when a knock sounded at the door. He groaned, dropping his head against her shoulder for a moment before gently lifting her off of him and moving to open it.

Ser Davos entered, followed by a serving girl carrying a tray of food. “Apologies for interrupting, lad-”

Gendry cut him off before he could finish. “I don’t actually need you now, Davos.”

An amused smile flashed across the older man’s face as he took in their flushed faces and the leathers on the floor. “Glad to hear it,” he said. “I’ll, uh, be leaving you to it then,” and he nodded to them both before he turned to hurry the serving girl from the room. 

She looked at him curiously and found a slightly guilty expression on his face.

“I had no idea why you were coming, Arya.”

Realization washed over her. “And you thought you might need an excuse to end our conversation?”

He nodded, looking sheepish.

She shrugged. “Can’t say I entirely blame you then.” She stood and moved across the room to where the girl had set the tray down. She’d barely eaten before leaving Tarth that morning. Truthfully, she’d not eaten nearly enough ever since the island, her worries over seeing Gendry again leaving her unable to stomach more than the absolute minimum. But now that her biggest worries had been settled, her appetite seemed to have made a complete recovery because the smells emanating from the various dishes were almost as enticing as Gendry.

Arya picked up a warm, crusty roll and was halfway through it before she looked up at him. There was a fond smile on his face as he stood across the room watching her as she shoved the rest of the roll in her mouth. 

“Hungry?”

She swallowed and nodded. “Growing a whole other person is hard work, you know,” she told him, picking up another roll as he came to join her at the small table.

"Then maybe we should get you something to eat before we do anything else," he said, reaching out to pile food onto a plate, selecting a little bit of everything before setting it in front of her, and then making a plate for himself. As they sat, he told her about finding Hot Pie at the inn, how he was tentatively settling into his lordship, and all about Edric, Mya, and Bella. Arya described her brief time at sea and told him about her crew. They had seemed to silently agree that any more serious discussions could wait until later.

The food Hot Pie sent up was better than anything she’d had in moons. Steaming meat pies, bread still hot from the oven, and a sweet crumbly pastry that had her licking the sugar off her fingers. Glancing up, she found Gendry staring at her, mouth slightly open and eyes glazed, and she felt that familiar heat curl up inside her again.

Arya hadn’t been lying when she told him that night was perfect. He had let her take the lead, not pushing for anything she was uncomfortable with, making sure she had found her release before letting himself go and treating her with a tenderness and care she hadn’t quite expected. The first time anyway. 

The second time, however, she’d pulled him on top of her, and it had started out much the same, with him following her lead. Until he’d accidentally pulled her hair and the moan she’d let out had surprised them both. It didn’t take long for them to discover that they both liked a bit of pain with their pleasure, and it had ended with her practically howling beneath him as he fucked her with a fierceness that was almost savage in its intensity.

Afterwards and in the moons since, she had tried not to think about the way his hands roamed over her skin or how his lips and teeth felt against her neck, but now that she was here, next to him all she could see was the rise and fall of his chest as his breath hitched and the dark look on his face as she sucked the sweet glaze from Hot Pie’s pastry off of her thumb. 

A more recent, but rather unexpected side effect of her pregnancy had been the unrelenting _ need _ that had seemed to develop overnight. For the last fortnight, she’d lain in bed with one hand down her smallclothes trying to alleviate the ache between her legs, and while she’d had some measure of success, nothing she’d managed with her own fingers had come anywhere close to the way she’d come undone under his attentive touch.

Heat spread through her as she held his gaze, the look in his eyes burning into her as she slowly pulled her thumb out of her mouth. She wasn’t sure which one of them moved first, if he had lifted her up or if she had jumped, but her legs were around his waist and his hands were gripping her thighs as he carried her across the room and through a door into his bedchamber kissing her fiercely the entire way. 

She felt his legs hit the edge of his bed just as he lowered her gently to the mattress. Gendry hovered over her, staring down at her with a look of wonder before kneeling to the ground to remove her boots. His hands slid up her legs as he raised himself to crawl up her body, stopping at the swell of her stomach. He stared at it for a moment then leaned down to rest his head against it. Arya propped herself up on her elbows to gaze down at him. The sight of him, mouth moving against her as he whispered words she couldn’t hear, filled her with a warmth that almost overwhelmed her. 

Arya watched him, his hands stroking her belly gently as he continued to murmur quietly to the babe growing within her. She reached down to lace her fingers through his, and he looked up, his brilliant blue eyes shining with emotion. 

“I love you,” she said, tugging him up to her. “I’m sorry I couldn’t say it before, but I’m saying it now.”

Gendry didn’t respond, just peered down at her for a long moment before swooping down and capturing her lips with his. “I love you, Arya Stark,” he said between kisses.

They might have only been together for one night almost five moons before, but it felt as if they’d spent their entire lives doing this. She had a sense of absolute certainty, like his lips were created for the very purpose of kissing her, and all she wanted was for him to never stop. 

And then he slipped his tongue into her mouth, and any thought except getting closer to him vanished. She lifted one hand to his head, running her fingers through his hair and tugging gently. The groan he let out shot straight to her core, and she sat up, pulling at his shirt, desperate for the feel of his skin against hers. Gendry seemed to have the same idea because his hands were yanking her tunic up over her head, leaving her bare from the waist up. 

He stared at her chest for a moment, his eyes wide. “Are they...bigger?” he asked uncertainly. 

Arya reached out for his hand and placed it against her breast, sighing softly as she did. “They are,” she confirmed. “They’re also extremely sensitive, so you might need to be a bit more gentle than last time.” A blush spread over her face as she remembered how she’d urged him to be rougher with her, thoroughly enjoying the use of his teeth.

He grinned, a wicked look in his eyes as he moved to sit beside her. “How gentle?” he asked, his thumb brushing against a nipple. She hissed at the contact, a jolt of pleasure radiating through her and setting her skin on fire.

“I don’t know,” she breathed as she leaned back and began to pull at his tunic, “but we can figure it out together.” 

It didn’t take long for the rest of their clothing to join her tunic on the floor, and Gendry had just positioned himself between her legs when he stopped and pulled back to look at her in a panic.

“Wait. Will this hurt you? Or the babe?”

Arya gazed up at him, her mind clouded with lust. “What?” Then his words hit her, and she stared at him in consternation. “I- I don’t know.” 

“Well, shit.” Gendry sat back on his knees, looking equal parts concerned and frustrated. 

“Well, shit,” she echoed. She thought for a moment. “Would a maester know?”

His face lit up, and he practically leapt from the bed, tripping in his haste to pull on his breeches. He rushed out of his bedchamber and through his solar to yank open the door to the hallway. 

“Oi!” His voice echoed down the corridor. “Get Maester Jurne up here. Quick as you can!”

Gendry strode back into the room and looked down at her lying naked on his bed. “As much as I hate to say this, maybe you should put on a shirt before he gets here.”

It felt like the longest fifteen minutes of her life. Sitting on the couch in his solar, wearing nothing but Gendry’s tunic, her body practically vibrating with need. Gendry was pacing, stopping every minute to glare at the door, as if he could will the maester in front of him solely through the depth of his frustration.

When the knock finally sounded, he jumped to answer it, and she leapt to her feet. Gendry pulled the door open to reveal a brown haired man in maester’s robes looking slightly concerned. 

“My Lord, is everything-”

“This is Arya,” he said, gesturing to where she stood. “She’s my…” He faltered, clearly at a loss at what to say.

“His betrothed,” she said firmly. 

Gendry’s head whipped around so fast, she almost laughed, but the look of stunned joy on his face was so beautiful, all she could do was smile widely at him.

“Betrothed?” he whispered.

Arya rolled her eyes at him. “I didn’t come all this way to give birth to a bastard, Gendry. Yes, betrothed.”

He started to move towards her, but then stopped and turned back. “This is Arya,” he said proudly. “She’s my _ betrothed_, and she’s pregnant.” 

“Ah,” said the maester, making to step into the room. “Would you like me to examine her?”

Gendry stepped in front of him, blocking his way. “No,” he said bluntly. “We need to know if fucking will hurt her or the babe.”

The maester’s face turned a shade of light pink. “Ah,” he said. “No, that will not-”

“Thank fuck for that!” Gendry breathed in relief, cutting off whatever Jurne was about to say. Arya caught a quick glimpse of his stunned face before the door slammed shut.

He strode across the room and pulled her to him. “You’re really going to marry me?” His eyes were wide, and his smile was so bright it was almost blinding. 

“I am,” she said. “And now that we’ve got that sorted, will you _ please _ fuck me already?”

His eyes darkened, and he lifted her up to carry her back to the bed. “As you wish, m’lady.”


	7. Chapter 7

They didn’t leave his rooms until midway through the next day after thoroughly making up for their separation. Multiple times. In multiple ways. On multiple surfaces, and while her stomach wasn’t yet large enough to be a true hindrance, they did have to get creative a few of those times, but she wasn’t complaining. She wasn’t sure she’d ever get enough of Gendry, but the pleasant tenderness between her legs did have Arya reluctantly agree that they needed a short break from the nonstop fucking.

Storm’s End was unlike any castle she’d ever seen. At Winterfell, the sprawling grounds were covered with towers and courtyards and small outbuildings. In King’s Landing, the Red Keep was a complicated network of smaller fortresses, tunnels, and courtyards. Even Harrenhal, with its melted stone had several functioning towers and grounds that spread out over the land. Storm’s End was one massive round tower that jutted up into the sky like an angry fist. Perched high on a cliff overlooking the waters of Shipbreaker Bay, the thick curtain walls contained the castle’s stables, forge, and courtyard. The sheer width of the walls was astounding, and looking at them, Arya could easily believe the legends that the fortress was imbued with magic.

Gendry took her on a tour of the castle, introducing her to everyone they came across. She met cooks, kitchen girls, blacksmiths, the steward, the master of horse, the master of arms, more guards than she could count, and so many others she could scarcely remember any of them. And every time, Gendry had presented her as “Arya, my betrothed” with such a proud smile that she couldn’t help but smile back.

She watched the way he interacted with his people and the way they interacted with him very carefully. The founder of House Baratheon was rumored to be a bastard, but just because the people had followed one bastard almost three hundred years before, didn’t mean they would all happily follow one now. Arya wasn’t about to let anyone look down on Gendry or try to challenge his rule due to the circumstances of his birth. 

As they moved through the castle, however, she was pleased to see that the people of Storm’s End seemed to like Gendry, especially the smallfolk. They greeted him with smiles, and to her surprise, he seemed to be perfectly happy to stop and chat for a minute with some of them.

She followed him out of the stables, after he’d spent almost ten minutes letting a stableboy show him how he’d rearranged the storage room. The stableboy’s enthusiasm reminded her of Hot Pie’s ability to talk about nothing but bread for longer than anyone would ever think possible. It was strange, how Gendry had stood and nodded along at the boy’s explanations, how he’d talked with several servants without a trace of irritation on his face. As they walked, she looked up at him curiously.

Gendry glanced at her and stopped walking. “Why are you looking at me that way?”

“You don’t like people, Gendry. You’ve never liked people.” She tilted her head, a little confused. “But you just let that boy talk at you about saddles, and you didn’t once snap at him.”

He flushed a slight pink. “Will’s a good kid,” he said. “And I don’t snap at everyone,” he added looking vaguely affronted. 

“No,” she said laughing. “But you’ve done it enough for this to surprise me.”

“Davos,” he said sighing. “Davos told me I had to make an effort or they’d never accept me. It’s not easy.” He paused. “Well, it’s a lot easier with the smallfolk and the servants than the lords, but I knew he was right. So I’m making an effort.”

She smiled up at him, pride swelling in her chest. “I told you you’d be a wonderful lord.”

Pain flashed across his face and he looked away. Regret flooded through her. Regret at her actions and her words. Regret at hurting him. She reached up and gently turned his face back to hers. “Gendry?”

He gazed down at her, a sad smile on his face. “It’s all right. I think I’m just gonna go to the forge for a bit.” He glanced behind her and nodded at someone. Turning, Arya saw Mya approaching them. 

“You two finally came up for air then?” she said raising an eyebrow.

Arya flushed, but Gendry didn’t even acknowledge her question. “Mya, I’m heading to the forge. Do you want to keep Arya company?” Arya glanced up at him, but he seemed to be avoiding her gaze. 

Mya grinned at Arya. “Come on, I’ll take you down to the village.” She glanced down at Arya’s stomach. “If you’re up for it.”

Arya looked at Gendry again who currently seemed very interested in his feet. Her chest felt tight, but she turned to Mya and smiled tentatively. “Is it a long walk? Or can we ride?” She took a few steps towards Mya when she felt Gendy’s hand wrap around her arm and pull her back. He leaned down to kiss her softly.

“Sorry,” he said when he pulled away. “Just- Yeah.”

She grabbed his hand and squeezed. “I’ll see you later?”

“Later,” he confirmed and strode off across the yard to the forge.

Arya watched him until he was out of sight before turning back to Mya. His sister was regarding her with narrowed eyes. 

“You two sorted things out then?”

Arya nodded.

“You gonna marry him?” she asked bluntly.

She nodded again, a small smile spreading across her face.

Mya stared at her for a long moment, as if she were trying to solve a riddle. “Good,” she said, then turned and walked in the direction of the stable. “It’s a few miles to the village, so we can ride if you want.”

Arya readily agreed, and soon enough they were on horseback and out of the castle. The village was situated just off the Kingsroad on the edge of a small forest about two miles from Storm’s End, and Arya was eager to see it and the people who called the Stormlands home. 

As they rode, Mya told Arya about her life before coming to Storm’s End. She was the oldest of Robert’s bastards, and actually had memories of her father, although she’d never realized who he was and no one had ever told her.

She’d grown up in the Vale, and spent a lot of time at the Eyrie, escorting visitors through the mountains on her mules. Arya was startled to discover that Mya had met both her mother and her sister during their time in the Vale, but as Sansa had been in disguise as Littlefinger’s niece, Mya hadn’t known who she was until long after Sansa had gone.

“So you must have known Littlefinger, then?” Arya asked cautiously.

Mya made a disgusted noise which made Arya chuckle. “Yes. I was well acquainted with Lord Baelish,” she said, a look of distaste on her face. “I never liked him. Far too smug for my taste.” 

Arya snorted. “I knew I would like you,” she said grinning.

They spent the afternoon wandering around the village, Mya pointing out various shops and landmarks. For having only been here for four weeks, she knew quite a lot about the area around Storm’s End.

“How do you like it here?” Arya asked. 

“It’s different, but it’s nice.” She shrugged. “Edric’s used to this life, raised to it, and Bella…” She trailed off. “Gendry said you’d met her before. You know what she was then?”

Arya nodded.

“I don’t know how much of that was by choice, but I think she’s glad for the chance to do nothing. For me though, it’s strange to not have to do anything all day if I don’t want to. I go a little crazy just sitting around so I usually help out in the stables or find something useful to do.”

“I understand how you feel,” Arya said. “I grew up like that, until…” She shook her head. “I never wanted to spend my days embroidering pillows or singing songs. I mean, there’s nothing wrong with it if that’s what you want to do, but it’s just not for me. I’m just- I’m not that kind of lady.”

“I’m no kind of a lady at all,” Mya laughed. “I’ve only officially been one for about a week, since King Bran legitimized all of us.” 

“Ugh. _ King Bran_. You have no idea how strange it is to think of my little brother of king of the six bloody kingdoms.”

Mya tilted her head. “Does that make you a princess then?”

Arya blinked. “I-” She closed her mouth, frowned, opened it, then closed it again. “Shit.”

“And your sister’s a queen. So wouldn’t you be a princess in the North too?”

She sighed. “I’m barely coming to terms with being a lady of any kind. So let’s just pretend this whole princess conversation never happened.”

Mya was quiet for a moment, then turned to her with a slightly troubled look on her face. “Gendry said you didn’t want to be a lady. Threatened everyone in the castle with all sorts of terrible punishments if they called you ‘Lady Stark’ or ‘Lady Arya’ or anything like that." She paused. "Is being a lady really that bad?”

“I used to think so,” she said after a moment. “But I don’t know anymore.” She let out a small chuckle and rubbed her hand over her face. “You met both my mother and my sister, and you’ve met me.” She gestured at her breeches and Needle hanging from her belt, then firmly placed both hands on her stomach with a pointed look. Mya laughed.

“As a girl, I was wild. Never wanted to sit still and do the traditional ladies pastimes. Didn’t see why I had to be so proper all the time. Perhaps if none of this had ever happened, I would have settled into it somewhat, but I was never going to be like my mother or Sansa or any of those ladies who just sit quietly at home tending their children.” 

She bit her lip, thinking. “But maybe that’s not what a lady has to be.” She looked at Mya. “You met Brienne. She’s a lady, or was before being knighted. Lyanna Mormont was the head of her house at the age of ten, and she died stabbing a wight giant in the eye because she refused to shelter in the crypts while her men fought for her. And even my sister, who was never anything but the absolute picture of a perfect lady killed that monster who married her by feeding him to his hounds.” 

Arya let out a long breath. “So maybe I’m not a traditional lady. I never will be. But I’m going to marry your brother, and he’s…” she laughed. “I can’t see Gendry ever being anything close to a traditional lord.” She looked at Mya, “I don’t see why any of the lords and ladies of Storm’s End have to be traditional, so maybe we can all just figure it out together?”

Mya gazed at her thoughtfully. “I think I’d like that. Although, you and Edric have a head start on the rest of us. He’s much better at dealing with the lords and ladies than Gendry is.”

Arya cringed, thinking of Gendry’s bluntness and general belligerence to most people. “How are his bannermen? Do they seem to accept him?”

Mya shrugged. “Hard to tell still. Edric thinks they’re withholding judgment for now. People here are still loyal to the Baratheon name, and Gendry apparently looks exactly like our father used to. A lot of lords are willing to serve him because of that alone.” She shook her head in disbelief. “Gods, it’s strange how highborns think.”

“I can’t argue with you on that,” Arya said smiling. “I’m glad he’s got you three though. He always wanted a family.”

“Me too. Although,” Mya said with a pointed look at her stomach, “You’re giving him a different kind of family now.”

A warmth spread through Arya’s chest, and she smiled softly, her hands coming up to rest on her belly. She was his family, and he was hers. 

They’d reached the edge of the village and were just turning back to return to their horses when a small group of men on horses bearing banners rode past, clearly heading towards the castle. It’d been years since Arya had learned the various house sigils, but she recognized the three brass buckles of House Buckler and the haystack from whatever house held Haystack Hall. She couldn’t place the last banner though, a crescent moon on what looked like a black sky above a row of trees. 

Beside her Mya groaned. “They’re back again.”

Arya turned to look at her. “Who are they? I recognize House Buckler, but not the others.”

“House Errol and House Fell. Edric says their lands are fairly close together, so when they want something, they tend to stick together.” She glanced at Arya. “This is the third time they’ve been here since I arrived.”

“What do they want?”

Mya shrugged. “They’ll say they’re here about some minor dispute, but they’re really here to try to hint to Gendry that he should marry. Preferably one of the ladies from their houses.”

Arya bristled at the thought of anyone telling Gendry to marry. 

“Apparently, Gendry almost bit Davos’s head off when he brought up the idea of marriage, and he’s practically ignored every lady they’ve thrown at him. So Edric thinks they’ve decided to try a less obvious approach.” Mya chuckled. “Not that it would have done any good even if you hadn’t shown up.” She glanced at Arya. “It was obvious to anyone with eyes that Gendry was pining over someone and wasn’t about to marry just because some fat lord wanted him to.”

A strange mixture of relief and guilt bloomed in her chest, and she sighed heavily. 

Mya looked at her curiously. “You all right?”

She nodded. “Yes, just- I’m not sure I’ll ever get over what I did to him.”

“You came back, Arya. That’s what matters.”

“I know. It’s just, I hurt him. Badly, and I hate that I did.”

Mya reached out to grab her hand. “He loves you. He’ll get over it, and so will you.” She smiled, a mischievous gleam in her eyes. “Now come on, let’s go ruin those lords’ hopes of providing the next lady of Storm’s End.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as an FYI, this story is never going to include any high drama, just the two of them finding their way together. So I hope that's not too much of a disappointment for anyone.

By the time Mya and Arya had made it back to their horses and returned to the castle, the visiting lords were nowhere to be seen, but as they drew closer to the doors of the round hall, Gendry’s voice could be heard echoing down the corridor, the exasperation clear in his tone.

“If you don’t have the space there, then just send them here. I told you all before that we’ll take in any refugees from King’s Landing. We’ve already had several groups arrive this week, and I expect more will be coming soon.”

Mya and Arya slipped through the door, unnoticed by its inhabitants. Gendry’s attention was focused on the three men standing in front of him, and even from a distance, Arya could feel the irritation rolling off of him, one hand on his head, and the other on his hip. He looked as if he’d been interrupted in the forge, his skin covered in a thin layer of soot and his threadbare tunic hanging at an awkward angle. 

“You didn’t all have to come all this way to ask for this, Lord Buckler. A raven would have worked just as well, you know.”

“Of course, my lord.” A tall, bearded man with dark brown hair stepped forward, his green cloak billowing around him. “It’s just that we know you’re still settling in here, and we want to offer our assistance in any way we can.” 

Mya leaned over to whisper in Arya’s ear. “That’s Lord Fell. They call him Silveraxe.”

“Why?”

Mya shrugged. “Dunno, but he usually carries one with him.”

Gendry turned to speak to Davos, who was standing quietly beside him and his eyes fell on Arya and Mya, half-hidden in the shadows. Arya saw his shoulders relax in apparent relief when he spotted her, and although she could tell he was about to call out to her, she really wanted to see what the lords would do, so she quickly shook her head at him. Gendry narrowed his eyes, but leaned back over to Davos. After a whispered conversation, he looked back at Lord Fell. 

“Thank you for your offer, but as I said before, Ser Davos is the best advisor I can ask for. If you need help with the refugees, we’ll send supplies back with you. But for now, you can just let them all know they’re welcome here at Storm’s End.”

The second lord, clad in a burnt orange cloak, slightly built with dark blonde hair and younger than the first spoke up. “We are glad to hear it, Lord Baratheon, and while Haystack Hall cannot house any more refugees, we are happy to send some of our people to help with things.’

“Lord Sebastian Errol,” Mya told her quietly.

The third lord stepped forward to join his companions. He was shorter than the other two lords, but was the oldest of them, his long gray hair brushing against his blue cloak. “Certainly, my lord. House Buckler is ready and willing to assist with the refugees at Storm’s End in any way we can. Perhaps with organization?”

A small, amused smile started to spread across Gendry’s face, and his eyes flicked quickly to Arya.

“Organization?” he questioned, cocking his head to the side.

“Yes, my lord,” Lord Buckler said. “We all know how difficult it can be to run a castle, and we were raised to it. You are performing admirably as our Lord Paramount, especially considering your history.” Arya was relieved to hear what seemed like sincerity in his voice. “But,” he continued, “It cannot be easy for you doing this on your own.”

“Oh, but I’m not on my own,” Gendry interrupted. “I’ve got Edric and Mya and Bella all helping me now as well as Davos.”

“Yes, but only Lord Edric has any sort of prior knowledge about running a castle, my lord, and his is theoretical at best. We can provide you with people who have extensive experience in handling these types of things.” He paused. “Sometimes, these things need a more...delicate touch.”

Mya leaned over. “They’re going to offer to send some ladies here to help in the hopes that Gendry will fall in love with one of them,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Now watch this.” And she stepped forward out of the shadows. “Lord Buckler, I do hope you’re not saying that Bella and I can’t be delicate.”

The three lords spun around, embarrassment spreading across Lord Buckler’s face as Mya strode towards them. 

“Lady Mya!” Lord Buckler walked to meet her, hands outstretched and his face tinged pink. “Not at all, my lady. It’s just, well, you still have much to learn, and I believe you and Lady Bella could both benefit from some guidance.”

“Oh?” Arya could hear the amusement in Mya’s voice. Gendry’s sister seemed to be enjoying the lord’s discomfort at having been caught. “What kind of guidance?” she asked innocently, her head slightly tilted.

Lord Fell stepped forward. “Perhaps someone who has handled these types of things before would be useful in this situation.”

“What kind of someone?” Gendry asked, his face screwed up in exaggerated curiosity. Mya moved to join him on the dais, and Arya had the distinct impression that they’d done this before, playing dumb and forcing the lords to explain exactly what they meant. Gendy had always been blunt, so she couldn’t imagine that he had a lot of patience for the polite style of conversation common to so many highborns. 

Lord Buckler cleared his throat. “Well, usually it falls to the lady of a castle to attend to these types of things, and as Storm’s End is currently without one…”

“Ohhh,” Mya said. “Because I’m not a lady, you mean?” Arya was impressed with her ability to somehow call out Lord Buckler’s tactlessness, but also sound completely unoffended by it at the same time. 

“No, my lady. I didn’t mean- You’re-” He stopped talking and took a deep breath. “Lady Mya, please allow me to apologize for insinuating anything...thoughtless.”

Lord Errol stepped forward. “What Lord Buckler is trying to say, my lord, my lady, is that there are many  _ experienced _ ladies available, my cousin or Lord Buckler’s niece for example, who would be happy to advise you and Lady Bella in the management of resources for the King’s Landing refugees.”

Mya’s eyes widened in apparent realization. “Oh, you mean a  _ highborn _ lady.”

Lord Errol nodded fervently, seemingly relieved that she’d finally gotten the point. “Yes, my lady, someone who has been educated in these matters would be a valuable asset for you and Lady Bella as you find your way here.”

Gendry stepped forward, a small smile playing on his lips. “I don’t think we need that. Davos has been a huge help, and besides,” he barrelled through the protest that Lord Errol had started to express, “my betrothed is here now, so she can help with this.” Beside him, Davos sighed heavily, and an expression of exasperation crossed his face as he turned to look at Gendry.

There was a moment of stunned silence before Lord Fell spoke, “Your- your betrothed, my lord?”

Gendry beamed at them. “Aye, my betrothed.” 

Arya saw the three lords turn to look at each other in confusion. Lord Buckler coughed then looked back at Gendry. “Forgive us, my lord. We were not aware that any betrothal negotiations were underway.”

“Oh, there weren’t any negotiations,” Gendry said cheerfully. “She just showed up yesterday.” 

“Yesterday?!” Lord Errol exclaimed. “And the betrothal has already been arranged?”

Gendry nodded, smiling broadly at them.

The three lords glanced at each other again, clearly at a loss. Arya could tell Gendry was thoroughly enjoying himself, and she was torn between stepping forward to reveal herself and remaining where she was to see where he was going with this.

“This is a sudden development, my lord. Is it not?” Lord Buckler asked cautiously.

“Yes and no,” Gendry replied. “We’ve known each other for years. Met her long before I even knew what I was, but I’ll admit that the betrothal was a bit unexpected. You see, I thought I’d lost her, that I’d never see her again, so when she arrived yesterday… Well, there was no way I was letting her go.”

“Ah,” Lord Fell said, in a rather tight voice. “You met in King’s Landing then?” 

Gendry nodded, grinning at them, seemingly completely oblivious to the fact that they were clearly under the impression that he had gone and gotten himself betrothed to a girl from Flea Bottom who had somehow survived the sacking and just arrived with a group of refugees. Arya was curious how long he was going to keep this up, so she just watched the three lords shift uncomfortably as Gendry stood there beaming at them.

Lord Buckler cleared his throat again, “And this...woman is your betrothed?” He turned to Davos. “Ser Davos, were you aware of this?”

Davos stepped forward. “Not until just now, my lord. I greeted the lady yesterday when she arrived, but I’d not had the chance to speak with Lord Baratheon today before this meeting, so he had not yet informed me of their betrothal.” He turned to clasp Gendry’s arm. “I believe congratulations are in order, lad.”

“Thank you, Davos. That reminds me, we should probably send out ravens to all the houses, shouldn’t we?”

“Of course, lad. I’ll have Jurne write up an...appropriate announcement so we can spread the good news as soon as possible.” Davos turned back to smile placidly at the lords.

Arya watched the three Storm lords exchange worried glances, highly amused that Davos was now playing along. 

“And when is the wedding to take place?” Lord Fell asked hesitantly.

“We haven’t actually discussed that yet.” Gendry turned his head to where she was standing. “Did you have a preference, love?”

The lords’ heads all whipped around to stare in her direction.

Arya rolled her eyes, but felt a swell of warmth at the endearment and moved up out of the shadows, revealing herself to the others. She wasn’t about to ruin his fun, so she just moved slowly across the room, her hands resting on her obviously swollen stomach. “Well, Gendry,” she replied thoughtfully. “I’d really like to have my brother here, but I don’t know if he’ll be able to get away from the Wall or even how long it would take for him to get here if he could.” 

She turned to face the lords, noting the looks of surprise and wariness on their faces as they took in her breeches, her sword, her pregnancy, and the revelation that her brother was at the Wall. “I doubt my sister can make it, but my other brother should be able to get away from King’s Landing for the ceremony. I suppose it will depend on his schedule and whether Jon can make it or not. We should send a raven to Castle Black as soon as possible to let him know, but I can promise that it will take place in the next four moons, no matter what,” she said rubbing her belly. 

Gendry stepped down from the dais and held out an arm for her to climb up beside Davos who gave her a long-suffering look. Moving to stand beside her, Gendry wrapped one hand around her waist to pull her close and brought the other one up to rest on her stomach before leaning down to rest his forehead against hers. 

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” she whispered, smiling softly at him.

“Mm hmm,” he smirked at her before dipping his head to capture her lips in a gentle kiss. “You see,” he said, turning back to face his bannermen, an impish smile on his face. “We know each other very well.”

The three lords stared at each other, then at Arya and Gendry, then back at each other. Lord Buckler stepped forward, looking uncomfortable but determined. “And you feel that this...betrothal is the wisest decision?”

Gendry tilted his head. “Why wouldn’t it be? I love her, and she loves me. I want to marry her, and she wants to marry me. Plus, she’s carrying my child, and I will not father bastards. I am not my father.”

Lord Buckler glanced at the two lords on either side of him, clearly hoping for assistance. “As the Lord Paramount, your union should be politically beneficial to the kingdom,” he said as if trying to explain something very important. “I’m certain that you love each other, but-”

“Oh, that won’t be a problem, Lord Buckler,” Gendry interrupted. “I promise that this marriage will benefit us politically, but that’s not why I’m marrying her.”

“It will?” All three lords were scrutinizing her openly now.

He turned to Arya. “Unless you think your brother will disapprove?” he asked a little uncertainty.

She looked up at him and shook her head, smiling. “Bran can fuck right off if he does, but he won’t. He knew this was happening before we did, but he still might appreciate confirmation from us.”

Gendry kissed her deeply before turning back to the gaping Storm lords, a broad grin on his face. “I’m sorry, my lords. I haven’t properly introduced you yet. Lord Buckler, Lord Fell, Lord Errol, this is Lady Arya Stark of Winterfell.”

“Slayer of the Night King and Bringer of the Dawn,” said Davos.

“Princess of the North and the Six Kingdoms,” Mya added helpfully.

“And the future lady of Storm’s End,” Arya said, smiling broadly at the stunned faces in front of her.


	9. Chapter 9

If Arya’d had a way to capture the look of absolute bewilderment on the lords’ faces, she would have kept it forever. The news that their Lord Paramount, a former baseborn bastard, was to not only marry the king’s sister, but that she was currently pregnant with his heir had paralyzed them into an almost absurd state of shock.

Lord Buckler recovered the quickest, stepping forward to offer polite congratulations while still retaining an air of complete confusion. 

“Forgive me, your grace-”

“Please, I do not care for titles. ‘Arya’ is just fine.” 

His eyes flashed uncertainly, but he took her hand and bowed. “Arya, then,” he said cautiously. “I congratulate you on your upcoming marriage.” He looked as if he had a thousand questions, but he just moved back, allowing the others to speak. 

Once the lords had all expressed the appropriate sentiments and they had been invited to dine with them for supper, Gendry had taken her arm and led her out of the hall, leaving Davos to ostensibly handle the logistics of the supplies for the refugees. Mya trailed after them, and the moment they were out of earshot, she let out a bark of laughter.

“Oh, the looks on their faces, Gendry! They were definitely not expecting that.”

Gendry turned to Arya, smiling sheepishly. “I hope you don’t mind how I introduced you. I figured calling you a lady was the best way to do it.”

Arya laughed. “You were right. Although, Mya throwing in the princess bit might have been a little much.” 

He blinked. “I guess you technically are, aren’t you?” 

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t you dare start calling me ‘your grace’ now.” She looked between the siblings. “How often do you do that? Fuck with the lords like that?”

Mya and Gendry exchanged glances, grinning at each other. “As often as we can,” Mya confessed. “They take twenty minutes to say something that could have been done in five, and we figured out that acting like we don’t understand whatever it is they’re trying to say can get it out in ten. Bella’s particularly good at it. The lords jump all over themselves trying to explain things to her. Although,” she added, “we try not to do it if Edric’s there because if he jumps in it takes thirty.”

Arya laughed. “Well, it was entertaining at any rate.”

“Gendry.” Davos’ voice rang out down the hall as he strode up to them. “They’ll stay in the guest quarters for the night, but they’ll be on their way tomorrow.” He fixed Gendry and Arya with a stern look. “So you’re getting married then?”

“We are,” she said. 

“Thank the gods for that,” Davos sighed. 

Arya raised an eyebrow at him in question.

“It’s better for him,” he explained. “For the Stormlands that he marry and produce heirs. It secures his position, and it makes his bannermen more confident in him.”

She turned to look at Gendry who was glaring at Davos. “I told you, I wasn’t gonna marry to make them happy.”

“I know, lad, and I’m glad you’re doing this for you, but it certainly makes things easier for me now, so pardon an old man for being relieved.” He turned to Arya. “And quite frankly, you being who you are is going to settle a lot of ruffled feathers.”

She furrowed her brows at him. “How so?”

“Had our young Gendry ever decided to marry, and chosen to wed a Stormlands lady, how do you think the lords and ladies from the other houses would have taken being snubbed? If he’d looked to another of the six kingdoms, Dorne or the Riverlands, they would have taken offense. No matter what, there would have been angry lords. But you, as the sister to not one but two reigning monarchs, are the only bride that no one can openly argue against.”

She scoffed. “Well that’s stupid.”

Davos nodded. “Aye, it is, but that’s neither here nor there now.” He turned to Gendry, eyeing his tattered tunic and soot covered face. “Supper will be in two hours. I suggest you get cleaned up before then, lad.”

Gendry nodded and glanced at her, eyebrows raised and a small smile on his lips, his earlier hurt seeming to have vanished for the moment. “You coming?” 

***

He needed a bath, and she needed a nap. So two hours later she was rested and he was clean. Arya ended up wearing a pair of Gendry’s breeches to dinner as most of her own things were still in Tarth. But even the few pairs she’d borrowed from her crew were getting too tight, so a quick visit to the castle seamstress before dinner assured her that she would soon have plenty of things to accommodate her expanding frame. 

When they arrived together in the round hall, the tables were already full of feasting people who let out a cheer when they entered.

“It seems the news has spread,” he said as he led her through the crowd to the high table. She could already see his siblings, the three visiting lords, Davos, and Brienne waiting for them. As she approached, Brienne stood and bowed to her, a small smile on her face as she took in their joined hands.

“I take it that all is well, my lady?” 

“It is,” Arya smiled.

“And that you’ll be remaining here?”

“I will.”

“If you are no longer in need of me, then I will return to Tarth in the morning, my lady.” 

Arya tilted her head. “And then back to Winterfell?”

Brienne inclined her head in confirmation.

“I’d like to send a letter to Sansa explaining everything if you could carry it with you. Also, would you be able to send Alara here with my things and inform the rest of the crew that anyone who does not wish to join Jack and Jarrad is welcome to settle here.”

“Of course, my lady.” 

Mya looked across the table at her curiously. “I thought you didn’t like being called lady.”

Arya shrugged. “Ser Brienne has earned the right to call me whatever she would like.” She turned to see a flush of red spread across the knight’s face, a pleased smile on her lips.

She followed Gendry to the center of the table to find two open seats between Lord Buckler and Lord Fell. Gendry directed her into the seat beside Lord Buckler, who stood to greet her. 

“My la- Uh, Arya,” he bowed to her. Across the table Lord Errol had started to stand and she waved her hand at him. “Please, it’s not necessary. I’d rather you eat your dinner uninterrupted than bother with all this ceremony.” They looked at her uneasily, shooting uncertain glances at Gendry, but they both retook their seats without protest.

Gendry busied himself serving her, giving her a plate of roast venison, carrots, and mushrooms before getting his own. Arya smiled when she saw several loaves of Hot Pie’s wolf bread spread across the table as well as some in the shape of the Baratheon stag. She nudged Gendry and nodded at the bread. “Shouldn’t he make a bull too?”

Gendry laughed. “I bet he would if we asked him to.” 

“A bull, my lord?” asked Lord Errol. 

“That was what we used to call him,” Arya said smiling up at him. “The bull. On account of his helmet.” She turned to look at Lord Errol. “He had a helmet, shaped like a bull’s head. He loved that thing, polished it constantly.”

Lord Errol was looking between them curiously. “If you don’t mind me asking,” he said cautiously. “How is it that you two ever became acquainted with each other? I can’t quite understand it.”

Arya glanced around her to see Lord Buckler and Lord Fell both watching them keenly now. Bella, Edric, Mya, Davos, and Brienne had stopped eating as well and were staring at them with expectant looks on their faces. She looked up at Gendry. “He stood up for me. Protected me when no one else could or did.”

He was gazing down at her with a soft smile. “She saved my life. More than once.” Their eyes were locked, and for a long moment, no one spoke until Edric cleared his throat and they both jumped slightly.

Arya turned to look around the table. “I met Gendry on one of the worst days of my life,” she began.

***

They all listened raptly as she and Gendry recounted their history, the story of a young highborn girl disguised as a boy and the bastard blacksmith who traveled with her seemed almost too much to believe. They shuddered at the description of Harrenhal and gasped when Arya had been captured by the Hound. Davos had chimed in with Gendry’s escape from the red witch and how he’d found him again to bring him to Jon Snow. She was silent on the more brutal parts of her own history, on what had happened in Braavos and at the Twins. Those still needed to be shared with Gendry, and she wasn’t sure if she ever wanted to tell anyone else.

“And so there he was, at Winterfell,” she said. “I could hardly believe it was him. I was certain that he’d died years before, but he was alive. And I was alive, and well, death was on our doorstep, so…” She trailed off and raised her arms to rest them on her stomach. The lords exchanged slightly embarrassed glances at the implication.

“And so here we are,” Gendry cut in, bypassing the more painful incidents of the recent past. 

“Here we are,” Arya affirmed, reaching out to take his hand. She glanced around at their companions who seemed to all be quietly contemplating their story. Studying the lords closely, she thought she detected a new sense of respect in their eyes as they gazed at Gendry. Everything he’d been through to get to Storm’s End was unthinkable, and yet he’d done it. Even the highest lord had to acknowledge the difficulties of his path. 

The silence at their table was broken by the arrival of Hot Pie and a tray of pastries and cakes. He stepped between Lord Errol and Edric and unceremoniously dropped the tray in the center of the table. “I brought you sweets, Arry,” he said to her. “I got lemon and blueberry and a nice cinnamon one, but Alys, down in the kitchen, says the plum ones are the best. That’s what she liked most when her babe was growing, so I made a whole stack of them.” He grabbed three cakes and pushed them into her hands. “The plums got shipped in all the way from Essos, and let me tell you, Arry, it’s not easy getting good fruit in the winter, so if you want any more, you just let me know, and I’ll make sure to get some for you, all right, Arry?” And he turned to leave without waiting for a response. 

Arya turned to meet Gendry’s gaze and they both started laughing. “And that’s Hot Pie,” he explained. “Sometimes, I honestly can’t figure out how he survived all those years, but I’m glad he did.” 

She nodded in agreement and lifted one of the plum cakes to her mouth. Whoever Alys was, she’d been right about how good they were, and she made a mental note to have someone tell Hot Pie that she definitely wanted more of them.

“Quite a story you two have,” Lord Buckler said beside her. She turned to find him eyeing them both, a distant expression on his face. “So much tragedy in your history.” He peered at her closely. “Has anyone ever told you that you resemble your aunt?”

She blinked at him. “My aunt?”

He nodded. “Your aunt Lyanna. I don’t know why I didn’t realize who you were the moment I saw you. The resemblance is uncanny, and with Lord Gendry resembling his father so very much, it’s like seeing ghosts.”

She stared at him for a moment. Her aunt had been known as a wild northern beauty, one that had nearly destroyed the realm with her actions. But despite that, Arya couldn’t fault her for running from a man who she knew would never be faithful, though she did wonder if Lyanna had known what was to come whether she would still have done it. “Gendry and I are not them,” she said quietly. “I promise you, Lord Buckler, Gendry is nothing like Robert Baratheon. I would not love him if he were.” 

“Aye, I can see that clearly in the way he looks at you.” He stared thoughtfully at her for a moment and then shifted in his chair. “I met your sister once, years ago, in King’s Landing,” he said in a much lighter tone, changing the subject. 

“Oh?”

“I doubt she would remember me at all. It was a...rather hectic day,” he said. “The day Joffrey Baratheon, or technically Lannister I suppose, married Margaery Tyrell.” He paused for a moment, his lips twitching at the corners. “Quite a memorable feast, as it turned out.” 

She smiled wryly at him. “Yes, I imagine it was. I can’t say I missed anything about King’s Landing after I escaped, but when I heard of it, I was deeply disappointed not to witness the crime my sister was falsely accused of.”

He bowed his head in acknowledgement. “I never did think a young girl like her capable of such a thing.” 

For half a second, she considered telling him that Sansa was more than capable of such a thing now, but instead she merely smiled before turning to Gendry. 

“Gendry, I’m rather tired. The babe has been kicking me all day, and I would very much like to get some rest, if that’s all right.”

Instantly, he was on his feet, helping her up and apologizing to his guests for leaving them so soon. Arya watched him fussing over her, and she felt a swell of love for him at how much he cared for her. She let him lead her from the round hall and into a deserted corridor before she stopped, tugging him back and wrapping her arms around his neck to pull his face to hers. 

“I lied,” she said in a breathless voice, after they broke apart.

“Lied?” he asked, dazed.

“Well, partly. The babe has been kicking me all day, and I would very much like to go to bed.” She looked up at him and bit her lip. “But I have no intention of resting.”


	10. Chapter 10

They barely made it through the door before he was lifting her to carry her through to the bed. Tugging his breeches down her legs, he paused at her smallclothes and looked up at her. 

“You know,” he said, a hint of something wicked in his voice. “I am a lord now, and I understand there’s a particular kind of kiss lords are known for.”

Arya breathed in sharply. She’d heard of it. Even caught a brief glimpse of it down a dark alley once in Braavos. But prior to seeing Gendry again, the lord’s kiss was nothing more than a vague piece of knowledge, a curiosity to muse over for a moment and then move on. But now, with his breath tickling her thigh and his hands hovering over her hips, she was struck with the desire to know exactly what all the fuss was about and she raised a brow at him. 

“Go on then,” she said breathily. “Do your lordly duty.” The laughter she’d let out at his haste to remove her smallclothes died the moment his mouth made contact, and any notion she’d ever had about the act, however fleeting, was immediately chased away by the reality of what his tongue was doing to her. All of it, from the sight of his dark head between her legs to the sounds that he was making to the added sensations of his fingers inside her soon had her trembling beneath him in an entirely new way.

“Seven hells,” she said after she’d finally caught her breath, her heart still pounding in her ears. She looked down to see him gazing up at her, a self-satisfied expression on his face. “You’re definitely doing that again.”

“As m’lady commands,” he smirked, and she couldn’t even find it in herself to scold him for using her title, a strange warmth faintly forming in her chest at his words. She reached down to tug on his hand, intent on bringing him at least a portion of the pleasure he’d just given her, but he resisted, barely moving up from his position between her thighs to rest his head on the swell of her stomach. She felt his lips brush gently against her skin, and the warmth in her chest blossomed into a sweet sort of ache that she couldn’t quite define. 

Arya closed her eyes and breathed in deeply, enjoying the weight of him against her, the feel of his legs tangled with hers, the steady rate of his breathing. But something was pulling at her, a sense of something...unfamiliar. Something wasn’t there. She frowned, trying to think what she could possibly be missing. She was content and calm and satisfied and safe and… 

That was it. She felt safe. For the first time since she didn’t know when, possibly since leaving Winterfell so many years ago, she felt completely safe. There was no threat, no army outside the gates, no darkness lurking in the shadows. But beyond that, there were no reservations, no doubts, no fear that she was making the wrong decision. There was just Gendry and her utter certainty that however unconventional her journey had been, this was where she was meant to be. 

Peace washed over her, and she felt a sudden lump in her throat. The babe was making her far more emotional than normal, and she gave a small laugh.

Gendry looked up at her curiously. “What is it?”

“Just happy to be here with you.” 

His eyes softened, and he crawled up to kiss her, wrapping his arms around her middle. Inside her, the babe moved, and she closed her eyes, smiling as she drifted off to sleep.

***

She woke before Gendry, his breath tickling against her ear as he slept. She lay still for a moment before carefully slipping from his embrace and out of the bed. As much as she’d love to stay in bed with him all day, she had things that needed doing.

The desk in his solar was covered with papers, ledgers, and a few tightly rolled scrolls. As she searched for a fresh sheet of paper, she noticed that many of the pages were covered in what looked like attempts at properly forming letters. She knew he could read, he’d have had to in order to run a shop in King’s Landing on his own, but his skills had probably been rudimentary at best, and she imagined that he’d spent a lot of time over the past few moons working on improving. She smiled as she dug through the pages covered in numbers detailing castle business, thinking of him diligently working to be the best lord he could, practising letters and working on his numbers. Finally finding a fresh sheet of paper buried under a stack of leather bound books, she grabbed a quill and an inkpot and began to write. 

> _ Sansa, _
> 
> _ I’m sure that this letter is going to come as a surprise to you, but I hope you will be happy to hear that I am back in Westeros with no intention of leaving again. _
> 
> _ There’s no delicate way to put this. I am with child, and I am going to marry Gendry and remain here at Storm’s End. I’m not sure yet when the wedding will take place, but rest assured it will be before the babe arrives in four moons or so. As you are more than capable of adding, you’ll realize that we were together in Winterfell. Being with him was my decision, and I do not regret any of it. _
> 
> _ I realize you have a lot of questions right now. You probably didn’t even know that Gendry and I knew each other. It’s a long story, far too long for a letter, but Ser Brienne will be able to tell you most of it. I want you to know that this is my choice. I love him, and I spent years thinking he was dead before he turned up in Winterfell. _
> 
> _ Seeing him again, loving him, scared me more than I can explain, so I ran. I was an idiot for trying to run away from him, but I’m done running. I’m going to be the lady of Storm’s End. Imagine what mother would think of that. _
> 
> _ I am writing to Jon in the hopes that he can be here for the wedding. I understand if you can’t get away, but you are of course welcome. _
> 
> _ The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. I’m tired of being a lone wolf. I never should have tried. So I’m building my pack. I hope someday you can do the same. _
> 
> _ All my love, _
> 
> _ Arya _

She folded the letter and set it aside to be sealed later. Smirking slightly, she imagined Sansa’s reaction to receiving the news. She’d be shocked, perhaps a bit scandalized, moreso if she knew her niece or nephew had been conceived on top of her grain stores, but Arya hoped she’d understand, that she’d be happy for them. 

She pulled a blank scroll to her and sighed. Jon. She had to write to Jon. The problem was that scrolls could only hold so much. How could she possibly explain it to him in a few lines carried north by raven? What could she say to make him understand? 

She sat, staring at nothing, mulling over her options. She could go for blunt. 

> _ Dear Jon,_  
_I fucked Gendry and now I’m pregnant. Please don’t kill him.  
_ _Love,   
_ _ Arya _

She could go for vague. 

> _ Dear Jon,  
_ _I need you at Storm’s End.  
_ _ Arya _

Or she could go for honest. Or maybe vaguely honest. Telling Jon that she was pregnant by raven seemed a bad idea. He’d probably show up and immediately punch Gendry before she could explain anything.

She stared at the scroll, frowning. Maybe she should have Gendry write to him instead. Would he leave the north and come all this way for Gendry? Or maybe Davos would be a better choice. He trusted Davos. 

Arya groaned in frustration and threw the quill down on the desk. 

“Troubles?”

She turned around to see Gendry leaning in the doorway to his bedchamber smiling at her.

“I don’t know what to write to Jon,” she explained, and he frowned, moving across the room to lean down next to her, staring at her blank scroll.

“Huh.” His forehead creased in thought.

“I wrote to Sansa.” She picked up the letter and handed it to him, watching as his eyes skimmed over it, his lips forming the words as he read. 

“Pack,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “I like that. Building our pack.”

“Telling Sansa isn’t that complicated. Ser Brienne will deliver the letter in person, and she heard our story last night. She can explain things, and frankly, I’m not worried about what Sansa thinks. But Jon…” She rubbed her hand over her face. “It’s just, how do I explain this to Jon? He doesn’t even know we know each other, does he?”

Gendry shook his head. “I never said anything to him.”

She tilted her head. “Why didn’t you?” she asked curiously. “You had all that time. You, Beric, Sandor, Thoros. You were all there with Jon, and not a one of you said anything about me.”

He pursed his lips, thinking before turning to pull up a chair next to her. “I can’t speak for the others,” he said. “But Arya, when Davos showed up, asking me to serve Jon Snow-”

“Why did you?” she interrupted. 

“Why did I what?”

“Why did you follow Jon? Years ago, you wouldn’t follow Robb, but Jon was okay? Why? Was it because he was a bastard?” This had been bothering her. 

He shook his head. “No. Not really.”

“Then why?”

“Because of you.”

“Me?”

He nodded and rubbed his hand over his face. “After I escaped Dragonstone and made it back to King’s Landing, all anyone was talking about was the Red Wedding. I knew that Beric had planned on taking you there, and I knew that it was a massacre. I thought…” He trailed off and was silent for a moment before shaking his head slightly. “I spent years thinking you were dead, Arya. That I’d failed you somehow. So when Davos showed up and asked me to help your brother, I thought maybe I could still do something for you, even if you were gone.”

“Then why didn’t you tell him that?”

Gendry scoffed. “What was I going to say to him? ‘Nice to meet you. I knew your sister once, but I abandoned her and then she died.’ I’m sure that would have gone over really well.”

Arya narrowed her eyes. “Actually, it probably would have. If you’d told him that you knew me, spent all that time with me, that I trusted you, I think he would have appreciated that. Besides, you didn’t abandon me, Gendry. You were stolen from me.”

His jaw clenched, and for a moment, she thought he was going to argue, but then he sighed. “You didn’t tell him either.” 

“No, I didn’t,” she conceded. “There was just too much going on, and at the time, it didn’t seem relevant.” She gave him an apologetic look before continuing. “But the point remains, how do I tell Jon, who probably still sees me as the little girl he left behind that I’m pregnant?”

Gendry’s face fell. “Oh gods, he’s gonna kill me, isn’t he?”

She reached out for his hand and squeezed it. “Do you really think I’m going to let him do that?” 

He laughed, his eyes sparkling. “Are you going to protect me, m’lady?”

“Of course I am,” she snorted. “If I can destroy the Night King, I think I can handle Jon.”

A dark expression crossed his face, and he pulled her out of her chair and into his lap, wrapping his arms around her. “Are you going to tell me how you learned to fight like that? Where you disappeared to all those years ago?”

She tensed, the urge to flee suddenly spreading through her like wildfire. Instead she took a deep breath and leaned into him. “I will. I need to tell you. You need to know. It’s just- It’s going to take a while, and right now, I want to get this raven sent, and I need to get this letter to Ser Brienne to take to Sansa. So a little later?”

He pulled back to gaze down at her, his eyes searching hers. “All right,” he said quietly. “Later.” He turned his attention to his desk. “So what to tell Jon then.”

They both sat staring at the blank scroll for several long moments. 

Gendry sighed. “I got nothing here, Arya.”

“Do you think Davos could help?” she asked hopefully. “He knows Jon pretty well, doesn’t he?”

Twenty minutes later, Davos was sitting on Arya’s other side, staring helplessly at the empty scroll. “Well, lad, you’ve got me,” he said sighing. “I’m not sure there’s anything you can say that would make this news easier for him to hear. Best to just do it.” 

In the end, they all agreed that vaguely honest was probably the best choice. 

> _ Dear Jon,  
_ _I am not sailing West. I am at Storm’s End. Gendry and I have something very important to tell you. Please come as soon as you can.  
_ _ Arya _

After much discussion, Davos decided to add a line of his own to the scroll. 

> _ Jon,  
_ _You once trusted me to give you sound advice. My advice now is to come to Storm’s End to see your sister.  
_ _ Davos _

Rolling the tiny scroll up tightly, Arya handed it to Davos. “How long will it take to get there?”

Davos rubbed his chin, thinking. “From here to Castle Black, I think around 10 days. But to be honest, I don’t know if your brother will even be there. When I spoke with him in King’s Landing, I got the impression that he wasn’t planning on staying with the Watch, not that there’s much of one left now to stay with.”

Arya stared at him, a tightness blooming in her chest. If Jon wasn’t at Castle Black, how would he get her message?

Davos reached out and patted her on the shoulder. “Don’t fret about it, lass. There’ll be people there. Might be they can find him.” He turned to Gendry. “I’ll take this up to Jurne and talk to him about how best to announce the betrothal.” Gendry nodded, and Davos left.

She bit her lip and turned to look at Gendry, worry in her eyes. He pulled her close, and kissed her forehead. 

“Nothing we can do about it, Arya. We just have to hope for the best.”

She nodded, but the ball of anxiety in her gut didn’t lessen with his words. “I know. It’s just- I want him to know about this. I don’t want to get married without him.” She quickly continued at the look of dismay on his face. “I’m marrying you regardless, stupid, but it would mean a lot to me if he could be here.”

“I know, but look, even if he gets the raven and comes straight here, that’s what, at least four weeks away, right? I mean, that’s if he sails, and by road it’d be twice as long, so for now, let’s not worry about it, all right?”

“All right,” she said reluctantly, then stopped and grinned up at him. “But if I’m not to worry, you’re going to have to keep me thoroughly distracted for the foreseeable future.”

Gendry smirked at her. “I think I can handle that.”


	11. Chapter 11

After a thoroughly distracting hour, Arya had gone in search of Brienne to give her the letter for Sansa before following Gendry to the round hall for petitions. She’d never been one for doing anything by halves, so if she was to be the lady of Storm’s End, she intended to see exactly how things were done. He’d apparently not done much of anything save smithing and storming about since the day her raven had arrived, so there were quite a few villagers and smallfolk from the surrounding lands waiting to speak with him. 

Arya simply watched at first, trying to gauge the way he handled things. He was good at this she realized. His blunt nature, his common sense, and his unwillingness to put up with bullshit all helped him cut to the root of his people’s problems, and when he couldn’t see a solution, he turned to Davos or promised to think on it and get back to them. He wasn’t making decisions impulsively or without the proper information. He genuinely cared about helping his people the best way he could, and they seemed to respect him for that.

This did not surprise Arya in any way. The time he’d spent in Flea Bottom, and then on the run with her had allowed him to see the world in a way that most lords never could. Gendry truly understood the struggles the smallfolk faced, and she could see how much he wanted to improve their lives by the way he spoke with them and the decisions he made. 

After observing for a bit, she started leaning in and offering the occasional suggestion. She knew he had been sincere when he told her he wanted her to rule with him, but she still got a sense of pleasant surprise when he’d immediately agreed with her, turning to the man in front of him and jerking his head in her direction and proclaiming, “What she said, then.” He listened to everyone with the same attentive care, but she could tell he was getting restless, the way his fingers tapped against his thigh, the hunch in his shoulders. She reached out to pull his hand into hers and stroked her thumb over his knuckles. His body relaxed, and he turned to smile at her, squeezing her hand. 

It was midday by the time the crowd of waiting smallfolk had dissipated. He’d just finished ordering the stonemasons to construct new dwellings in the village to house the refugees when Bella came wandering in followed closely by Edric.

Gendry stood and stretched, looking around at the empty hall as the stonemasons departed. “Is that it then?” he asked Davos, who nodded in confirmation before leaving. Gendry sighed in relief, turning to his siblings. “Where’s Mya?”

“Riding,” said Bella. “She accompanied Ser Brienne and her men up the road to their ship, but a storm is on its way, so she was planning on staying out for a bit before the rains hit.”

“Ah,” Gendry nodded. He glanced at Arya. “The storms here can sometimes keep you inside for days. Although, it’s too warm for it to freeze right now, so that’s something.” He looked back at Bella. “Do we know how far off it is?”

She shrugged, and Edric chimed in. “Jurne judges we’ve got a few hours before it hits. He says by the look of the clouds, it won’t be too rough.” He turned to Arya to explain. “His quarters are all the way at the top of the tower, so you can see for miles. It’s useful for letting the villagers know when a bad storm is coming in from the sea.”

Arya blinked, looking between Gendry and his brother. “Days?” she asked, feeling rather stupid at her shock. It was called the Stormlands for a reason.

Gendry nodded. “We’ve only had two storms like that since I arrived, but I’m told you get used to it.”

Edric grinned. “During the summer when I was young, it rained here most days, even if just for a bit in the morning, but there were definitely storms that lasted a while. I was gone by the autumn, so I can’t speak to that, and since winter seems to be winding down, I suppose we’ll just have to wait and see about the spring.”

She’d forgotten that Edric had grown up here. “How bad do the storms get?” she asked curiously.

He shrugged. “Let’s just say there’s a reason people believe this castle only stands due to magic.”

***

After lunch, Edric had dragged Gendry off to handle some business in the stables, and Arya found herself walking through the halls alone with Bella. 

“So, he likes girls after all, then,” she said laughing, and Arya felt herself blush remembering the interaction between them when they met at the Peach all those years ago.

Bella tucked her hand into the crook of Arya’s arm and leaned her head in conspiratorially. “You can imagine my shock when I arrived here to find one of the few men who ever refused me had turned out to be my brother.” 

Arya wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so she just hummed. 

“Good thing, though. Could have made for an awkward reunion,” Bella said matter of factly. “Although,” she mused, “I’m not sure I would have remembered him if had hadn’t.” She straightened her shoulders and looked over at Arya. “But that’s long past, and now you’re here. How are you feeling?” she asked, her gaze focused on Arya’s stomach.

“All right,” she said. “The babe moves a lot, and sometimes that’s uncomfortable but for the most part I’m fine aside from tiring more quickly.” 

Bella nodded. “Babes came at the Peach. More often than you would think with moon tea available. So I’ve seen more than my fair share of pregnancies.” She stopped walking and peered at Arya. “Have you been examined yet?”

Arya shook her head. “I hadn’t even thought about that. I suppose I should.” Then she thought of Maester Jurne, and she wrinkled her nose at the thought of him anywhere between her legs. 

Bella seemed to read her face. “There’s a midwife, Elyn, down in the village. I met her a few weeks ago. She’s absolutely lovely and has delivered countless babes over the years. You could send for her if you’d like.” She looked at Arya a little sheepishly. “I used to think I might like to be a midwife.”

“Why can’t you?”

Bella blinked at her. “Well. I’m a lady now.”

“So? That doesn’t mean you can’t do what you like.”

Bella stared at her for a moment and then started walking again. “I suppose you’re right,” she said slowly. “But honestly, it’s kind of nice not having to do anything. I’m learning to read, and I’m working on improving my sewing. I can embroider a bit now too.” Her face lit up suddenly. “And Ser Steffon has started teaching me how to shoot a bow. I finally managed to hit the target yesterday.” 

Arya laughed. “I had to teach myself to shoot in secret because it wasn’t allowed.”

“Why wasn’t it allowed?”

“Because  _ proper ladies _ don’t shoot arrows,” she said in a mocking tone.

Bella stopped walking again, her face falling suddenly. “Oh.”

Arya looked at her crestfallen expression, sympathy rushing through her as she remembered Septa Mordane barking at her to act like a lady. “I didn’t mean it like that, Bella. If you want to shoot arrows, then you shoot arrows. That doesn’t make you any less of a lady.”

Bella eyed her uncertainly. “I just- I worry. I don’t have any idea what I’m doing. At all. And-” She swallowed hard and glanced away. “No one here knows. What I did before. As far as they know, I worked in a tavern. It’s not that I’m ashamed of it, but…” she trailed off. “Gendry didn’t have to send for me. After your brother found me, he could have left me where I was, and no one would have ever known. I would never have known, but he didn’t. He brought me here, and I told him not to tell anyone.” She looked back at Arya. “I don’t want to ruin it by doing or being the wrong thing.”

Arya grabbed both of Bella’s hands in hers. “You’re not going to ruin anything,” she said firmly. “You’re going to be the best damn lady you can be, and that’s all that matters. All right?”

Bella gave her a tremulous smile and a small nod, but Arya could tell she wasn’t convinced. “Come on,” she said smiling. “We’ll go shoot some arrows together. We didn’t have a space to practice on the  _ Nymeria,  _ and I’ve missed it.”

They spent an hour in the practice yard, Arya giving Bella tips as they shot together, but then Ser Steffon, a tall, handsome, dark haired man had appeared and Bella’s eyes had lit up. So Arya stepped back and let him place Bella’s arm just so, instructing her how to hold the bow, guiding her hand with his own, and flushing red when Bella beamed at him. 

Focusing on her own practice, Arya blocked out the sounds around her, shooting arrow after arrow after arrow. The swell of her stomach hadn’t yet made sparring too difficult, just tiring, but archery was exactly as it had been, and the repetitive movements of drawing her bow and loosing the arrows over and over was soothing, lulling her into an almost meditative state. 

She didn’t realize she had an audience until she’d reached the end of her arrow supply and a burst of applause broke through her concentration. She looked up to see Edric clapping, Gendry standing beside him with an odd look on his face. Suddenly, she was taken back to Winterfell and two wildly different nights when Gendry had found her shooting. She met his eyes, and she could see he was reliving both the pleasure and the pain from those memories. He gave her a sad, wistful smile as she walked over to meet them.

“You’re very good,” exclaimed Edric. “I trained for years, but I never did quite get the hang of archery. Much better with a sword.”

Arya glanced at Gendry, who had just stepped off to speak with Ser Steffon and Bella before turning back to Edric. “We should spar some time then,” she said. “I’m always looking for a proper challenge.”

Edric eyed her dubiously. “Is it safe for you to do that?” 

“Do what?” Gendry moved up beside her and wrapped his arm around her waist.

“Sparring,” Arya replied before Edric could. “And why wouldn’t it be?”

He narrowed his eyes at her, his gaze flicking down to her belly. “You shouldn’t do anything that might hurt the babe.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m not going to hurt the babe, Gendry.” 

“You don’t know that, Arya,” he said quietly, reaching out to press his palm against her stomach.

She opened her mouth to argue, but then she saw the worry on his face, and she was taken back again, this time to a damp, dark cave and her own broken heart.  _ I’ve never had a family.  _ She was his family. She and the babe growing within her, and she couldn’t fault him for his concern, even if she thought it unwarranted.

She lifted up on her toes to kiss him. “I don’t think it will hurt the babe. After all, small folk women do all sorts of physical labor all the way up until the end, and it doesn’t seem to harm them. But if it makes you feel better, then I’ll ask someone who knows.”

Gendry’s face sagged in relief, then immediately wrinkled up. “Jurne?” he asked.

Arya shook her head. “Bella said there’s a midwife in the village. Elyn. Could we have her come here? I should probably talk to her anyway. Just to make sure everything is as it should be and all.”

“Course we can,” Gendry said. “I’ll send a message today.”

Arya turned back to Edric. “Once I get the all clear, would you like to spar with me sometime?”

Edric glanced at Gendry uncertainly as if waiting for his permission, and Arya felt a stab of annoyance that she quickly tried to quash. She had to remember that Edric probably had much more traditional ideas about lords and ladies than she did. It wouldn’t do for her to get in an argument with her future good brother over a lady needing their lord’s approval to do things. Especially when Gendry seemed entirely disinclined to bother.

After getting no response from Gendry, Edric turned back to her and nodded. “I’d like that,” he said, but he didn’t sound convinced. He stared at her for another moment before nodding at her and then moving over to join Bella and Ser Steffon who had given up any pretense of archery and were now just smiling at each other as they talked.

“Storm’s almost here,” Gendry said in her ear, just as a light drizzle started, and in the distance Arya heard a faint roll of thunder. “We should get inside.”

She held out her hand. “What do you do during these storms?”

Gendry slipped his fingers through hers and smiled cautiously at her. “I thought we might talk, if that’s all right with you.”

Arya chewed her lip as she stared at him apprehensively. It was time. She had to tell him everything. Slowly, she nodded. “Let’s get to it then,” she said softly, and she followed him back into the castle, her heart in her throat.


	12. Chapter 12

He’d had a bath drawn, and she sank into the steaming water with a sigh of relief. As a child, baths had been an aggravation, her skin scrubbed raw by her mother, exasperated at the sheer amount of filth that would gather on her body. On the road, they’d been rare and usually cold. In Braavos, they were quick and utilitarian. It wasn’t until she’d finally returned to Winterfell that she truly learned to appreciate a well drawn bath, with salts to soothe away her aches and scented oils to soften her skin. But even the best baths in Winterfell had nothing to compare with the large copper tub in the lord’s chambers of Storm’s End, mainly because the lord himself was leaning against the edge, his legs bracketing hers as they soaked together. 

He bathed her, rubbing the cloth over her skin and gently washing her hair, and somehow it felt far more intimate than anything else they’d done together. When he was finally done, she leaned back against his chest and let out a hum of satisfaction as his hands moved to rest on her stomach, his thumbs rubbing small circles into her skin. Arya burrowed deeper into him, smiling at the way his arms tightened around her. 

They sat in silence for a long moment, until he pressed gently against her belly. “Would you have come back if not for this?” he asked quietly.

She considered his question for a moment. “I don’t know,” she said honestly. “I’d like to think that I would have realized how stupid I was being and turned the ship around, but I really don’t know.” She moved her hand to cover his where it lay. “This...forced it on me.” She felt his hand twitch under hers, and she continued. “It forced me to face what I was running away from and why. Forced me to face the truth of things, to stop lying to myself.” She took a deep breath. “I knew you didn’t mean it that way. Deep down I knew.”

He was quiet, and she knew he understood her meaning. “Then why?”

Arya let out a long breath. “Because I thought it would end badly for you.”

“You said that before. Why would it end badly?”

“Because I’m death, and everything I touch dies.”

She felt him jerk behind her. “That’s stupid, Arya.” 

She shook her head. “You don’t know. You don’t know where I was or what I’ve done.”

“Then _ tell _ me.” His voice was pleading.

Arya sat up, bringing her knees up to her chest as best she could and resting her chin against them. “I’m afraid to tell you,” she said quietly. “Afraid you’ll see me differently.”

She felt his hands settle on her back, the warmth spreading through her. “I love you. Nothing you’ve done is going to change that.”

She shook her head. “This might.”

He huffed. “Give me a little credit, Arya. I know you’ve been through some terrible things. I’m not an idiot. I don’t care what you did, but you _ have _ to tell me.”

“I know,” she said sighing. “I promised I’d tell you, and I will.” Arya took a deep breath, suddenly grateful that he was behind her. This might be easier if she didn’t have to look at him while she talked. “Do you know anything of what happened to me? After the Brotherhood?” 

He moved a hand down to brush lightly against the scars on her side. “Not really. I know you ended up with the Hound for a while. I know you were in Essos, and I know someone tried to kill you.”

“After you were taken, I was so upset, so angry with Beric and Thoros. I was certain they had sent you to your death, and I just couldn’t stay with them anymore, not after that. So I ran. I ran straight into the Hound, and he took me. He wanted to sell me back to my mother and Robb, so he took me to the Twins.”

Gendry inhaled sharply, but he didn’t speak.

“We...were too late. By the time we arrived, the slaughter had just begun, and I saw them kill Grey Wind, Robb’s direwolf. I tried- I tried to get to them, but Sandor- he knocked me out. Saved my life.” She paused, her breathing ragged. “Did you ever hear what they did to Robb?” she whispered.

He leaned forward against her back, his mouth against her ear. “I heard...rumors, but I never knew what was true. They said-” She could hear the reluctance in his voice. “They said, the wolf’s head and your brother…”

She nodded, her throat too tight to speak. She’d never spoken of this to anyone. The only person who had known what she had seen was Sandor, and he was gone. She swallowed and forced herself to continue. “The rumors were true. I saw it.”

“Gods, Arya,” his voice was strangled. He didn’t seem to know what else to say because he just pulled her closer and kissed the side of her head. 

“I was too numb to even look away. I just...stared at him. I hadn’t seen him in years, and just when I thought I was almost home…” She trailed off, her voice breaking. 

She was silent for a long moment, remembering the hollowness that consumed her after the Red Wedding. Then she shook her head and continued. “So Sandor was stuck with me. He decided to try to take me to my aunt at the Eyrie and get some money from her. On the way, we came across some Frey men talking about what they’d done to Robb, so I killed one of them.” She gave a harsh laugh. “Sandor was so angry with me. He had to jump in and take care of the rest of them.” 

“We also came across Polliver.” She was about to ask him if he remembered, but his arms tightening around her and the grunt he let out told her that he did. “That’s when I got Needle back.”

“I wondered about that,” he said. “He’s dead then?”

She nodded, but didn’t elaborate. Gendry didn’t seem to need her to. 

“So we went to the Eyrie, but my aunt had died. Sansa was there, but I didn’t know it. I sometimes wonder what would have happened if I had. Would Littlefinger have sold me to the Boltons instead?”

She felt him shudder behind her. 

“We didn’t really have a plan after that. Ended up running into Brienne and Pod, who were looking for me and Sansa. Brienne and Sandor fought, she won, and I ran.”

“Leaving him for dead and robbing him,” he said, and she nodded. He had remembered their exchange in the Winterfell forge.

“After that, I tried to get to Jon at the wall, but the only boat I could find was going to Braavos.”

“Braavos?” His voice is cautious.

“Mm-hmm. Do you remember Jaqen?”

Gendry hummed in thought. “The one you gave the names to? In Harrenhal.”

She nodded.

“You went to _ him?” _She could hear the disapproval in his tone. 

“I didn’t have anywhere else to go, Gendry. My sister had disappeared from King’s Landing, my brothers were thought dead, I couldn’t trust the Brotherhood. You were gone. I couldn’t get to the Wall. I had no one and nothing... except a promise from a Faceless Man.”

She felt him go very still. “A Faceless Man?” he asked, his voice a bit higher than usual.

“That’s what Jaqen was.” She took a deep breath. “He was an assassin. The Faceless Men are assassins. They worship the god of death, and they took me in. They trained me, they blinded me, they tried to kill me.”

Gendry’s hand drifted to her scars again. “Why did they try to kill you?”

“To be a Faceless Man, you have to give up everything,” she explained. “Your possessions, your name, your identity. Even your face. You have to be no one, so you can become anyone, and that’s what they were training me to be.” She breathed out heavily. 

“I had no other options, so I tried. I tried to be no one, but I just couldn’t do it. I hid Needle because I couldn’t give it up. I killed someone on my list without their permission, and they punished me by taking my sight. But I still tried.”

She leaned back against him. “They gave me an assignment. An actress, Lady Crane. I watched her, but she noticed me, talked to me. She was kind, and I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t kill her just because someone had paid for it. That wasn’t justice or revenge. It was just murder.”

Arya laughed bitterly. “Not that it did any good. She still died.”

“How?”

“I had decided to leave, but I was stupid about it. I was so, so stupid. I should have been more careful. They came after me, stabbed me. I fell in a filthy river, and was chased through the streets by a woman who hated me and was determined to see me dead. By all accounts, I should have died, and honestly, there’s no good explanation for how I survived.”

At this, Gendry’s arms tightened around her again. “The woman I was sent to kill, Lady Crane, she helped me. Stitched me up, but they came for me again. Lady Crane died, and the only reason I lived was because I had learned to fight while blind and she hadn’t. So I left and came back to Westeros.”

“Arya, I-” He stopped, unsure of what to say. “Gods, what you’ve been through.” He leaned forward and kissed the side of head again. 

She was quiet for a moment. “I’m not finished,” she said softly. “There’s more.” She paused. “Do you know what happened to the Freys?”

She felt his entire body tense up behind her. “I know they all died, but by the time the news spread to King’s Landing, no one knew what was true and what was made up. It all sounded so...unbelievable.” He reached up and gently pulled her head around so she could see his face over her shoulder. His eyes were full of concern. “Was that you?”

Arya looked into his eyes and nodded, turning back around before she could see his reaction, but he grabbed her by the sides and lifted her, spinning her around and pulling her into his lap, her legs automatically moving to straddle his hips. His hands were cupping her face, and his eyes were searching hers. 

“I told you,” she said sadly. “I’m death.” 

Gendry sighed. “No, Arya. You’re not death. _ You’re life_. We would all be dead, worse than dead but for you. You saved Westeros, love. You saved me. You saved Sansa. You saved Jon. And you saved this one.” He moved his hand to press against her stomach, and the babe suddenly jerked inside her. Hard. Gendry’s eyes widened in shock, and he stared at her, lips parted.

“Was that-” he started uncertainly, but then she felt it again. A sharp jab, right under Gendry’s hand. “Oh,” he breathed. “It’s the babe. It’s really in there.” His other hand came up beside his first, and she could see the wonder on his face as he stared down at where they rested on her belly. Another kick, and he broke out in a broad smile, looking up to meet her gaze. He faltered, the smile sliding from his face as he took in her expression. 

“Death cannot do this, Arya. It can’t create life. It can’t love. It can’t save the world. But you did, Arya, and I don’t care about anything else you did to get there. I only care about what was done to you.”

Arya stared at him, her heart constricted. His eyes were roaming over her face, and his face was completely open. Gendry had never lied to her, and she knew he wasn’t lying now. Her past, the violence that had clung to her, that she had used as a shield, did not bother him. She felt a rush of relief, her chest swelling with love for him, and she swooped forward to kiss him, laughing when she felt the babe kick again and Gendry jumped.

Gendry pulled back to gaze at her, the love in his eyes more evident than ever. “I can’t believe that’s our child in there,” he said softly. “Yours and mine.”

He sounded so awed, it almost brought her to tears. “Yours and mine,” she repeated, bringing her hands up to rest on top of his, and smiling when she felt their hands jerk. 

“Shit. That’s really a tiny person in there, isn’t it?” 

“Did you think I was lying about this?” she asked laughing. “That I suddenly gained a ton of weight for fun?”

“No, just- This makes it so much more real. I can feel it.” He paused, frowning. “I don’t like calling it ‘it.’ We should come up with something else.”

“Like what?”

Gendry shrugged. “I don’t know. Something.” 

“That’s helpful,” she said. 

He pursed up his lips, thinking. “You said it felt like a butterfly.”

Arya snorted. “Not anymore. It’s more like a tiny knight, jousting away in there.” 

“But I like that,” he said thoughtfully. “A butterfly. Like a rebirth or something.” He leaned his head down until it was inches away from her stomach and began speaking in a voice Arya had never heard from him. “How’s my little butterfly in there? Are you growing big and strong?” The babe kicked again, and he grinned up at her triumphantly. “That’s our butterfly then.” 

She rolled her eyes, but smiled at him. “Alright. We can call her a butterfly.”

Gendry froze. “Her?”

Arya blinked. She had said her. “I- I don’t know. It just feels...right. Like that’s our daughter.”

Gendry stared at her for half a moment, eyes shining, smiling widely before pulling her to him, splashing water out of the tub onto the floor. “Thank you,” he said.

“For what?” 

“For coming back to me.”

She lifted her head up to look at him, love rushing through her. “I’m glad I did. We’re a family, a pack. You, me, and this jousting butterfly knight inside me.”


	13. Chapter 13

The storm only lasted for a day and a half, and according to Edric it was a mild one. If mild meant howling winds and thunder crashing so loud it seemed to shake her bones, then Arya wasn’t sure what a bad one would be like. But even so, curling up beside Gendry in front of the fire while the rains battered the castle made her feel impossibly secure, like the world outside could be ending but her world inside with Gendry and their babe was safe.

They had spent the first night in his, or rather their quarters truly catching up with one another. The act of opening up, of laying bare her history to him had seemed to cleanse her somehow, the raging storm of her past washing away any lingering reservations she might have had. They sat up late into the night, telling each other everything they could think of since they’d been separated. They’d laughed as well as cried, and when morning came, Arya felt lighter, less burdened by the weight of her experiences.

She spent the next day wandering the castle, trying to learn the layout of Storm’s End while Gendry attended to things with Davos. As a child in Winterfell, she’d often been called Arya Underfoot, a result of her tendency to interject herself into everything. She’d made friends with servants, soldiers, and smallfolk alike, and though it’d been years since Arya had lived in a castle, she soon found herself enjoying the bustle of people moving through the halls, stopping to talk to guards and chambermaids and stable boys. 

She wanted to understand Storm’s End, to see what made it live. She followed Simon, the guard from the road, to the armory to examine the weaponry. She found Will the stable boy in the round hall along with several others having reading lessons. She climbed to the top of the tower, all the way up to Maester Jurne’s quarters where she sat and watched the storm raging. She visited Hot Pie in the kitchens and stole a stack of plum cakes before sneaking back up to observe Gendry and Davos engaged in a ridiculously tedious discussion about taxes.

Storm’s End could be home, she decided. It wasn’t Winterfell, but even Winterfell wasn’t Winterfell anymore. There’d been too much death, and there were too many ghosts for it to ever be the castle of her youth again. But Storm’s End, with its strong walls and stormy weather, with the inhabitants who seemed to accept her place as their future lady without question or judgment, with Gendry, Storm’s End could be home.

When the skies cleared, the castle seemed to shake off the rains as the people spread out through the grounds, righting toppled barrels and checking to see what damage the storm had caused. Arya stood with Gendry in the yard and breathed in deeply, filling her lungs with the crisp, clean air. 

She turned to face him, wrapping her arms around his waist and smiling when he drew her close, tucking her underneath his chin. “I think I like it here,” she said softly.

Gendry pulled back to meet her eyes, a tender expression on his face. “I like having you here,” he said, lifting a hand to rest against her stomach. “Both of you.”

“Good, because you’re stuck with us now.”

Gendry’s eyes crinkled up in a wide smile, and she laughed, leaning her head against his chest. “I feel like I’ve got a decent handle on the layout of the castle now,” she said. “So I think I’ll visit the village today. I might be able to see the midwife that Bella was telling me about, and I’d really like to get acquainted with the people who live there now that I’m officially staying.” 

She paused. “I could meet with the refugees and see what kind of things they need. I’m sure a lot of them don’t have much after escaping King’s Landing, so maybe I could take a wagon of supplies with me. Oh, and I’ll stop by the kitchens to get some treats from Hot Pie first. I’m sure any children there would love his cakes.” She bit her lip, trying to think of what else she could take with her that others might not have thought of. “Are there any toymakers in the village?” she asked, finally looking up at Gendry to see him gazing down at her in wonder. “What?”

He shook his head. “Nothing, just you.”

She raised an eyebrow in question, and he continued. “You just- You care. You truly care about people, and I love you for that.” He leaned down to kiss her forehead. “And they’re going to love you for it too. I hadn’t thought about toys for the children, so we’ll definitely see what we can do.”

Arya grinned at him. “Do you want to come with me?”

He shook his head regretfully. “Can’t. Storms like this always leave some kind of damage behind, and I’ll need to be here to receive any reports about necessary repairs, but I can send a few guards with you.”

She bristled. “I don’t need a guard, Gendry.”

“No,” he said pointedly, “but do you intend to haul a wagon full of supplies and cakes down there by yourself?”

“Oh.”

“That’s what I thought,” he said. “Mya and Bella would probably like to go with you, if you want to ask them.” 

She lifted herself up to kiss him. “I’ll go find them while you get me a wagon, deal?”

“As you wish, m’lady.” 

***

Arya, Mya, and Bella rode down to the village, a cart full of supplies behind them. Arya really did like both of Gendry’s sisters very much, and she was glad for the chance to get to know them a bit better, chatting as they rode. 

The growing group of refugees was too large to be housed in the same place, and the stormy weather meant that tents were not the best choice, so they had been put up all over the village, in the inn, over taverns, in barns and shops, anywhere a spare space could be found. But with more on the way, that could only serve as a temporary measure, and Arya was impressed to see that workers had already begun clearing a space at the edge of town to build the houses that Gendry had ordered. 

They settled on taking the supplies to the inn and handing them out there as the refugees arrived. The news spread through the village quickly, and the three women were soon surrounded by people, not just refugees but villagers who were all keen to see their lord’s betrothed. Arya spoke with so many people her head was swimming with names, but she was determined to listen to everyone. By the time they were through, she had more than enough ideas for what she and Gendry could do to make things easier for these people, people who had lived through the flames and the destruction of their home. She still wasn’t sure if she was cut out to be the lady of a great house, but she was going to do everything she could for the people who had come to Gendry for help.

***

When the cart was finally empty, and the last plum cake had been handed over to a young girl hiding behind her mother’s skirts, Bella turned to Arya. 

“I sent a message to Elyn, and she’s expecting us whenever you’re ready.”

Arya nodded, turning to the guards to let them know they could return to the castle with the cart before following Bella through the streets to a small stone cottage tucked down an alleyway, Mya close behind. Bella pulled up at the door and knocked, then stepped back to stand beside Arya as they waited. 

Arya wasn’t sure what to expect a midwife who had delivered countless babes to look like, old perhaps, old and grey and soft. The woman who opened the door, however, was none of these things. Elyn was much younger than she was expecting, probably around her mother’s age when she had died, with dark brown hair and sharp features that lit up in a broad smile when she saw Bella. 

“Lady Bella,” she exclaimed, then her eyes fell on Arya, and she bowed, looking slightly uncomfortable. “M’lady,” she said in a deferential tone.

“Please, it’s just Arya,” she said firmly stepping forward. “I don’t need you to call me anything but my name. Especially if you’re going to bring this babe into the world.”

Elyn’s eyes darted to Bella for half a second, but then she stepped back opening her door wide and smiled. “Alright then, Arya, come in and let’s see how you’re doing.”

The interior of Elyn’s cottage was cozy, the fire crackling in the hearth cast a warm glow around the room bathing everything in a golden light. Arya followed Elyn across the room to a small table and sat down across from her. Mya and Bella, however, had remained close to the door, seemingly uncertain of whether they should stay or leave. Arya wasn’t entirely sure if she wanted them to go or not, so when Mya called out to tell her they’d be back shortly, she was a little relieved at not having to make that decision herself. 

As soon as the door closed, Elyn turned to Arya. “So, how are you feeling? Any sickness or pain?” she asked. 

Arya shook her head. “No, the sickness stopped a while ago.” She stopped to think. “Maybe seven weeks ago or so?” 

Elyn nodded. “And do you have an idea of round about when the conception happened?”

Arya snorted. “I know exactly when it happened. It was the eve of the Long Night, the battle of Winterfell.”

A knowing look passed over the midwife’s face, and Arya could see her trying to suppress a smile, before her face screwed up in concentration, clearly calculating how long it’d been. “So that would put you at just about halfway through then.” She frowned, eyeing Arya’s small frame. “Could I examine you?”

Arya nodded and stood, unsure of what she should do. “Do you need me to undress at all?”

“No, dear, I think not today, but I would like to see your stomach if you don’t mind pulling up your tunic.” 

Arya obediently removed the heavy cloak she was wearing and untucked her shirt, bunching it up beneath her breasts. She heard the sharp intake of breath and knew without looking that Elyn had seen her scars. She bit her lip and kept her head lowered, not particularly wanting to see the shock that she knew must be on the midwife’s face. 

It only took a moment for her to recover. “How long ago did those injuries happen?” she asked in a neutral tone.

Arya thought of the Waif and Braavos and Lady Crane and closed her eyes. “Almost two years ago now, I think. I’ve lost track of time a bit.”

She opened her eyes to see Elyn watching her carefully. “You’ll need to make sure those scars as well as the skin around them stays soft. Massage oils into your stomach at least once a day.” Elyn stepped forward, reaching out to touch her, hands roaming over the swell as if they’d done it a hundred times before. 

“How often does the babe move?”

“All the time,” Arya sighed, then she remembered. “Gendry felt the kicks,” she said smiling softly. 

Elyn looked up at her, eyes sparkling. “The babe being felt on the outside is exciting, especially for the father.”

Warmth washed over her.  _ The father. _ Gendry was the father. How had she gotten here? Pregnant, betrothed to a lord, and happy about it, like something out of one of Sansa’s songs. She chuckled softly to herself and shook her head. Then she remembered their conversation with Edric and her chest tightened with worry. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to be still, to not train or ride until the babe came. She knew she wouldn’t do anything to endanger the babe growing inside her, but if Elyn forbid sparring, she knew she just might go a little mad. 

She took a deep breath and nodded. “I need to know if it’s safe for me to spar.”

Elyn blinked at her. “Spar?”

Arya nodded again. She hadn’t worn Needle to the village, not wanting to appear frightening or threatening at all to the refugees, so she was unable to show her. “I water dance,” she explained. “It’s a style of sword fighting that I learned as a girl, and I would like to continue to train and ride and do other things, but Gendry is worried that it could hurt the babe.” She paused. “I told him that most women in Westeros continue with their physical activities throughout pregnancy, and that being highborn doesn’t make me any more delicate than the rest. But I promised him that I would not do anything until I asked.”

Elyn looked startled at the idea of a highborn lady sword fighting, but she gazed at Arya thoughtfully for a moment, taking in her figure and her obvious well toned muscles. “I must admit that I have never been asked if sparring is safe during pregnancy, but if you are careful and know your limits, I cannot see why you shouldn’t be able to do things you are already capable of doing. Although,” she warned, “as you progress and the babe grows, you will find it more difficult to move quickly. And with your small frame, I imagine it might be sooner than you think. Probably within the next two moons.”

Arya nodded, relief washing through her as she pulled her tunic back down over her stomach. “Thank you,” she said sincerely. “Is there anything else I should know or do? Should I come back down here again to see you?”

Elyn smiled. “You seem healthy, and the babe is growing at the expected rate. For now, just make sure you’re eating well, getting enough sleep, and being mindful of any limitations. And there’s no need for you to make the journey all the way to me. If you’ll permit, I can call on you at the castle in a week to check on you. Of course, you can send word any time, and I’ll come as quick as I can.” She paused, looking slightly concerned. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather have the maester attend to you?”

Arya shook her head. “How many babes have you delivered?” she asked. 

Elyn pursed her lips, thinking. “I’ve lost count, but I’ve been acting as a midwife for close to twenty years now.”

“And how many do you think Jurne has delivered?”

“Oh,” she said smiling. “I don’t think. I know. He’s delivered four.” 

Arya grinned back at her. “I would rather have you,” she said firmly. “I’ll see you in a week?”

Elyn gripped her hands tightly and looked into her eyes. “I look forward to seeing you again, La- Arya.”

***

She found Mya and Bella waiting outside with the horses, and she rejoined them smiling. 

“Everything alright?” Bella asked.

Arya nodded, suddenly eager to get back to the castle, to see Gendry, to tell him everything. She’d missed him, she realized. Which was absurd because she’d seen him less than three hours ago, but she missed him all the same. Mounting her horse, she shook her head and took off. Maybe there was something to those songs after all.


	14. Chapter 14

They were in the practice yard, and Arya was bouncing on the balls of her feet, nervous energy rolling off of her as she shifted her weight from side to side. She could see Gendry watching, his face guarded, but it was there in the way he held himself, tense and anxious, he was afraid for her, for the babe. 

A wave of exasperated fondness rushed through her, and she moved over in front of him. Reaching up to cup his neck, she pulled him down to look into his eyes. “I’ll be fine, Gendry,” she reassured him. “The babe will be fine.”

His eyes darted down to her stomach, and he sighed. “I know, and I trust you. It’s just- Please be careful, okay?” 

She nodded and kissed him quickly before returning to where his brother was waiting. Arya turned to face Edric, body angled slightly to one side, Needle held behind her back. He was staring at her, clearly wary, and from the way his gaze kept darting to Gendry, a little afraid of what his brother might do to him.

Arya stood there patiently, waiting for him to move, to step towards her, to do anything but stare. After several long moments, she sighed and replaced Needle in her belt. “Edric,” she said, “You’re not going to hurt me.” 

He narrowed his eyes at her, and put one hand on his hip, the other dangling his sword by his side. “How do you know that?”

She thought for a moment before turning to where the small crowd of onlookers had gathered and called to Ser Davos who was standing quietly beside Gendry. “Ser Davos?”

The older man stepped forward, a small smile on his face. “Do you require my assistance?”

“Ser Davos,” she said. “You’ve seen me fight, correct?”

“Aye. That I have.”

“And have you seen Edric fight?”

“I have.”

“And in your opinion, should he be worried about hurting me?”

Davos turned to Edric. “Lad, if you manage to lay a single finger on her, I will personally pay you ten dragons.”

She saw surprise flash across Edric’s face at his words. He stared at her for a moment, then he pulled his shoulders back and fell into a fighting stance, his sword held out in front of him.

Arya grinned and pulled Needle from her belt, the anticipation of a good fight flooding through her. She’d continued to train on her ship, but ever since learning of her pregnancy, few of the men had been willing to spar with her, and the ones that had held back so much that it had often seemed pointless. 

Edric swung his sword back and forth a few times, and grimaced at her, his face still cautious. “Look, I get what Davos said, but can we ease into this? I just-” He broke off and glanced over at Gendry again. “I mean, you’re-” He gestured wildly to her midsection. “And I don’t want-” He sighed heavily.

Arya watched him for a moment, torn between frustration and understanding. “Alright,” she conceded reluctantly. “We’ll start slow.” Raising Needle, she twirled it in her hand and slashed it towards him, grinning when he blocked her, his sword raising instinctively. 

It only took a few near misses for the wary look to drop from his face, replaced by concentration as he responded to her assault. He was well trained, but she could see from the look on his face that he was beginning to realize that she was better than he expected, better than him.

She spun around him, ducking his thrusts and sidestepping his attacks, her arm vibrating with his blows when their swords clashed, and her blood singing with the exhilaration of the fight. Dimly, she could hear cheers and it registered with her that the crowd of onlookers must be enjoying themselves, and then there was nothing except the ringing of steel and the rush of her heartbeat pounding in her ears. 

Thrust. Lunge. Parry. Retreat. Lunge. Attack. Pivot. Thrust. 

It was like someone had lifted a weight off her chest that she hadn’t known was even there, like she was taking her first true breath in ages. Her body was moving, spinning, _ dancing _, entirely without conscious thought, as if she were merely a passenger, an observer, and not the one determining which foot moved forward, how to raise her arm, when to twist back to avoid Edric’s sword. It was almost intoxicating. 

But she soon felt herself tiring, and the longer she slashed and twirled, she more she felt the ache in her muscles, the split second delay in her reactions. Glancing at Edric’s face, she knew he was fading as well, and she abruptly stepped backwards, dropping Needle to her side and breathing heavily. 

Edric stumbled, caught himself, and grinned weakly at her. “I haven’t had a fight like that in years,” he panted, trying to catch his breath. “If that’s what you’re like now with all that,” he gestured at her stomach again, “I don’t know that I want to go against you when you’re not.” He glanced over to the crowd, and Arya followed his gaze to see Gendry watching her with a darkly intense look on his face, a look she’d seen in their chambers, but never quite like that.

She turned back to Edric and smiled. “Until next time then?”

He bowed his head in assent and moved over to speak to Davos who was watching their exchange in amusement. 

Arya turned to face Gendry, locking her eyes on his and moving deliberately towards him. Her body was buzzing from exertion, but the way he was looking at her had her heart suddenly racing for an entirely different reason. It was oddly arousing, walking slowly towards him in full view of everyone and knowing exactly what he was thinking, exactly what he wanted to do to her, what she wanted him to do. 

She stopped in front of him, barely noticing the others moving around them as they held each other’s gaze. Gendry reached out to grasp her arms, his fingers wrapping around her in such a way that she knew it was taking considerable effort for him to restrain himself from yanking her to him. She was almost disappointed that he hadn’t. 

He was breathing heavily, and his lips parted as his gaze traveled up and down her body. “Chambers?” he asked quietly, his voice hoarse.

She shook her head. “Too far.” 

His eyes darkened, and he grabbed her hand, pulling her across the yard to a small storage shed. “Seven hells, Arya,” he said, glancing back at her. “Davos told me you were good, but I didn’t expect-” He cut himself off as he dragged her through the door, pushing her against it the instant it swung shut before crashing his lips to hers, his hands frantically pulling at her breeches. “I swear,” he breathed as he moved his mouth down her neck, teeth scraping against her, “I swear, that was the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen, and I need to fuck you, like now.”

Heat was blazing through her, the need to have him consuming her. She reached out, fumbling with the ties of his breeches, her own trousers now rucked down around her knees, constrained by her boots. One of Gendry’s hands was between her thighs, the other pulling desperately at his own breeches, trying to get them down over his hips as he continued to nip against her neck, seemingly unwilling to stop.

Together, they managed to shove his trousers down to his thighs, both sighing in relief when she wrapped her hand around him. But it wasn’t enough, and with her legs trapped by her breeches, frustration was coursing through her. 

“Gendry,” she breathed. “Gendry, please.” 

He pulled back to look at her, his eyes dark with desire. In one swift movement, he spun her around, pressed her against the door, and thrust into her from behind, both of them crying out at the action. 

When he collapsed against her, both panting as they came down from their release, she reached up to grasp his neck, smiling when he nuzzled his face into her neck. Their entire encounter had taken only minutes, the intensity of their coupling somehow multiplied by their desperation resulting in a completely new experience. 

“That was-” he breathed against her ear. “Wow.”

Arya turned to face him, pulling up her breeches and straightening her tunic as she did. “I agree,” she said. “Wow indeed.” 

Gendry smirked at her as he adjusted his own clothing before drawing her close to kiss her. “We should definitely do that again.”

She bent down to pick up Needle from where it had fallen to the floor. “So, seeing me fight really did it for you?”

He pushed her back against the door and pressed his body into hers. “Fucking hells, Arya,” he sighed, staring down at her. “The way you moved. It was just-” He stepped back and ran his hand through his hair, shaking his head. “You’re breathtaking, and I can’t believe you’re mine.”

Arya stretched her arms up to wrap around his neck, lifting herself up to kiss him. “And you’re mine,” she said. “So does this mean you’re okay with me sparring?” she asked smirking.

Gendry’s eyes darkened again, and he pressed his lips to hers. “If that’s what sparring gets me, then anything m’lady wants is fine with me.”

***

It took time, but Arya began to feel at home in Storm’s End. The denizens of the castle and the villagers took her presence in their life in stride, hardly blinking at any of the habits she took up. From sparring with the soldiers to holding petitions with Gendry to teaching the children, boys and girls alike, water dancing. Her willingness to mingle with them, to get dirty and help as much as she was physically able, to treat them and their lives as valuable, quickly made her a beloved figure among the smallfolk and the servants. 

Alara returned from Tarth along with a few others who had elected not to return to sea on the _ Nymeria _. Between her and Elyn’s weekly visits, Arya felt like she might just have the slightest inkling of what it was like to have a mother again, to have someone to go to for advice, fussing over her. To her relief, Gendry took to her Alara immediately, inviting the older woman to join them for dinner where they talked for so long, Arya fell asleep with her head on the table as they went through the list of acquaintances they shared from King’s Landing.

She soon fell into a comfortable routine. She spent most mornings with Gendry, attending petitions, handling castle business, or holed up in their quarters in various states of undress. The afternoons usually found her in a number of different places. Sparring with Edric, riding with Mya, or shooting with Bella. She might be found down in the village with the refugees, in the kitchens with Hot Pie, or anywhere else in the castle. 

On occasion, everything would start to overwhelm her, and she would get the urge to run. But Gendry was there, holding her when she needed it and leaving her be when she needed that, and after almost a moon in Storm’s End, she couldn’t remember why she’d ever wanted to be anywhere but by his side. 

One evening, about five weeks after she’d set foot in Gendry’s castle, they were in their solar, when Jurne knocked on the door, a scroll in his hand. She’d been lying on the couch, her head in Gendry’s lap as he worked his way through a book on the history of the Baratheons, the babe kicking away merrily inside her. 

“Excuse me, my- Arya,” Maester Jurne said, holding out the scroll to her. “This has just arrived for you.”

Arya sat up abruptly, the direwolf seal visible from across the room. Sansa. She sprang to her feet. Or some approximation of it, anyway. Arya was beginning to realize that Elyn might have been far too generous in her estimation of when the babe would make it difficult for her to move. 

Thanking Jurne distractedly, she unrolled the parchment, eyes drinking in the message from her sister. She chuckled when she saw how tiny Sansa had made the letters, fitting more than she thought possible on the small sheet of paper.

> _Arya,_  
  
_ I must confess I thought your letter a jest until Ser Brienne confirmed it. Even with what she told me, I still can’t quite believe it, but I am glad that you are safe in Westeros and not sailing round the Sunset Sea. I am happy for you. Truly I am._  
  
_ You are correct that now is not a good time for me to leave Winterfell, but perhaps in a few years I might be able to come meet my niece or nephew. _  
  
_ I have written to Castle Black several times, but until recently I received no reply. However, a scroll did come last week, informing me that Jon has set sail from Eastwatch. I can only assume that he is on his way to Storm’s End. _  
  
_ Congratulations to you and Gendry. I will be sending you gifts for the babe when I can manage the time._  
_  
Love,   
__Sansa_

She looked up at Gendry, eyes shining. “Jon’s coming,” she beamed at him. “He’s coming here.”

Gendry’s face lit up, and then immediately fell. “He’s going to kill me.”

“Don’t be stupid,” she laughed, pulling him down for a kiss. “He’s not going to kill you.”

“You say that now,” he said. “Just wait until he gets an eyeful of this.” He stroked her stomach gently, a small smile spreading across his face, just like it did every time. “It’s right there. Proof that I fucked you.”

She smirked at him. “That I fucked you, you mean.” 

He gave her a crooked smile. “And you think he’d like that better or worse?”

She stared at him a moment and then snorted. “Oh shit. We’re in trouble, aren’t we?”


	15. Chapter 15

The first several days after Sansa’s letter saw Arya constantly on the battlements, watching the road anxiously for any sign of Jon’s arrival, but after the fourth straight day of nothing, Gendry persuaded her to wait indoors, promising that the guards would alert them instantly when he arrived.

A week passed with no sign of him. And then another, and another. Arya grew more and more edgy, waiting for the one person who meant as much to her as Gendry. As her anxiety grew, so did the babe, expanding her small frame every day. 

It had started to get more and more difficult to shimmy into her breeches each morning, even with Gendry’s help, and so for what might have been the first time in her life, Arya had voluntarily begun wearing dresses. The castle seamstress had made her a small selection of simple, unfussy gowns that she could just slip over her head with far less effort than her breeches required. So on the days that she just couldn’t be bothered expending the energy, she could be found in a dress.

At first, Gendy had stared, bewildered at the sight, but once they discovered how much easier it was to fuck in a dress, he was quite pleased on the mornings she forwent her trousers, promising to find her later in the day to take advantage. Arya herself was surprised to find how much she didn’t actually mind the dresses when they were her choice. Not only were they easier, they were also much more comfortable than she realized, especially now that her body was generating as much heat as Gendry’s forge. Even though winter seemed to be slowly fading into spring, on most days the chill in the air wasn’t nearly enough to abate her perpetual state of warmth, and the light cotton skirts flowing around her legs helped, somehow less confining than her breeches. 

Her swelling stomach had essentially put an end to sparring as well, and a recent increase in storms kept her confined to the castle more often than not. She grew restless, about to crawl out of her skin with the need to be doing something. She helped Hot Pie in the kitchen, kneading away her frustrations. She took over some of the reading lessons from Jurne that Gendry had instituted for the servants and smallfolk who wanted them. She set up a target in a disused hallway and showed anyone who asked how to shoot. She began to feel like Arya Underfoot again, spending time with anyone and everyone, learning everything she could about Storm’s End and the people who lived there. 

She grew closer to Mya and Bella, often joining them both in one or the other’s quarters in the afternoons. They sat and chatted as they all worked on their own things, Arya organizing supplies and housing for the refugees, Mya looking over castle business, and Bella usually reading or sewing. Their afternoon sessions soon became an informal gathering for the women of Storm’s End. Alara sat in, dispensing all manner of advice as she attended to various small tasks. Alys from the kitchen and her two little girls, Rosey and Daisy joined them, the girls playing happily on the floor while their mother took a moment to relax. Elyn came from the village, along with barmaids, seamstresses, cooks, and any number of others.

In Winterfell, her father had made it a habit to dine with different members of their household, and while she and Gendry had started doing that as well, Arya felt that these afternoons with the women gave her even more insight into the needs of their people, giving some of them who might find Gendry intimidating an opportunity to speak with her and his sisters alone.

Sitting with such a wide variety of women, Arya had begun to realize how very narrow minded she had been as a child in her attitude towards the more traditional ladies’ pastimes, and just how privileged her status as a Stark made her, despite the hardships she’d endured. She saw how hard some of their lives were, how hard they worked, and she began to appreciate the dedication and attention even the most feminine pursuits took. She even picked up a needle and thread for the first time in years, attempting to follow Bella’s instructions, albeit very badly. 

Although, without her septa breathing down her neck or the critical eyes of Sansa and Jeyne watching her every move, Arya was rather surprised to find that sewing was not nearly as disagreeable as she remembered. She even found the repetitive motions rather relaxing at times, and with Bella's help, decided to attempt a simple blanket for the babe.

So one afternoon, a little over three weeks since Sansa’s letter, she was settled in Bella’s quarters, cursing happily over her very badly done Baratheon sigil. Rosey and Daisy were on the floor, crafting flower crowns out of some discarded papers and insisting that everyone who entered wear them, even Hot Pie who had just come to drop off a tray of pastries. Arya had cheerfully accepted the lopsided crown, curtseying to the girls in thanks, her skirts swishing around her before returning to her latest attempt at embroidering a stag.

Which is how Jon found her. Sewing. In a dress. With paper flowers in her hair. 

There was barely any warning. Just raised voices from the corridor, the door banging open against the stone wall, and then there he was, breathing heavily as if he’d run all the way from the North, Gendry hot on his heels. 

“Jon!”

He looked panicked, but the moment he saw her, his face sagged in relief. “Arya!” He strode across the room to her, his eyes on hers. “What’s going on? Are you alright?” 

She struggled to her feet, and Jon stopped dead, his eyes widening at her obviously pregnant belly. She could see the exact moment when his brain stopped working. His face went completely blank, and he stood still as a statue, wide eyes locked on her midsection. She kept her gaze on his face, but she could hear Bella and Alys hurrying the girls from the room. As the door shut behind them, she glanced at Gendry who was hovering behind Jon, looking anxious. 

“Jon?” she said softly, taking a small step towards him. Her movement seemed to break whatever spell he was under, his eyes darting to her face and back to her stomach repeatedly. 

“I- I don’t understand,” he said staring at her. “You said you had something important to tell me.” He turned back to look at Gendry in confusion. “That you and Gendry-” He suddenly whipped his head back to stare at her, then swiveled around again towards Gendry, realization slowly dawning. Jon’s face went white, then red. His hand twitched, moving imperceptibly towards Longclaw hanging on his belt, and she surged forward to step between her brother and her betrothed. 

“You- He- You-” Jon seemed at a loss for words, stammering out incoherently as his face grew even redder. His eyes traveled down her form, taking in the flower crown, the needlework in her hand, the dress, and his face set in an odd determination as he advanced on Gendry. 

“What did you do to her?” he bellowed.

She felt Gendry step backwards, and she moved with him, keeping him behind her as Jon pressed forward, anger mixed with confusion all over his face. They kept moving, she and Gendry backing across the room, until his back hit the wall, and her back hit his chest. His arms came up to wrap around her, holding her to him almost reflexively, and Jon’s face went purple as he made to draw Longclaw. 

Arya hadn’t worn Needle or her Catspaw dagger in more than a moon. The belt didn’t hang right around her growing waist anymore, and it hadn’t felt necessary or even wise to be so obviously armed. But her history had left her with an almost pathological need to have something to defend herself on her at almost all times, so Gendry had fashioned her a small knife that she kept tucked into a specially made heavy leather pocket in her dress. 

The rage on Jon’s face at the sight of Gendry’s arms around her had Arya snatching the knife out of its sheath and brandishing it, holding Jon at arm’s length. He froze, staring at her with a combination of bewilderment and betrayal, his eyes fixed on her knife.

They stood there, motionless, Gendry’s arms around Arya, her arm holding the knife, Jon glaring, Longclaw halfway drawn. No one seemed able to move.

“Gendry!” Beside them, the door to Bella’s chambers flew open and Davos rushed in, halting immediately at the sight in front of him. 

“Ah,” he said. “They told me you’d arrived, your gr- my lor- Jon.” 

Jon’s face crumpled at Davos’ appearance. “Davos,” he breathed. “I don’t- Arya- Why-” 

Arya’s heart clenched at the utter confusion in her brother’s eyes, and she lowered her arm. “Jon,” she said quietly, shaking Gendry’s arms off and stepping forward. “You and I need to talk.” She turned to Davos. “Can you show him to the guest room? I’ll be right there.” 

Davos nodded and looked at Jon expectantly. “If you’d come with me,” he said gesturing to the door.

Jon’s face darkened, and he glared over her shoulder at Gendry. “I’m not leaving you with _ him,” _ he spat out, and Arya rolled her eyes.

“For fucks sake, Jon,” she snapped, “just go with Davos.”

He glowered at her, his eyes darting between her and Gendry. “But he’ll-”

“What,” she said laughing. “What’s he going to do? Put another babe in me?”

She felt Gendry shift behind her, and Jon moved, his hand on Longclaw again. Arya held up her knife again. “If you even think about drawing that sword…” She stared defiantly at him, daring him to try.

Jon looked at her for a long moment, clearly frustrated as he huffed angrily. “I don’t understand,” he said. “Why are you here? Did he force you-”

She snorted. “Force me? Hardly.”

“But-” 

“But what?”

He stared at her helplessly. “For gods’ sake, Arya, you’re wearing a dress! And flowers! And you’re sewing? And you’re-” He gestured at her stomach, unable to say the words. 

“Pregnant? With Gendry's child?”

“Yes!” he roared. “You’re practically a child yourself, Arya, and you go and- with someone you don’t even know?”

“I’m not a child, Jon,” she snapped. “I’m eight and ten and a woman grown.” 

Jon threw up his hands. “But still! I never thought you’d-” He cut himself off abruptly.

Arya narrowed her eyes at him. “Never thought I’d what? Fuck someone?” she asked bluntly.

He cringed and shook his head. “I would have thought you’d need to, oh, I don’t know, Arya, actually know the person first!”

She fixed him with her glare. “I’ve known Gendry longer than you have, Jon,” she said.

He pulled back, clearly startled. “What?”

She sighed, rubbing her face with her hand. She was suddenly exhausted. “I met Gendry the day Father died.” 

Jon stared at her, his mouth open. Then he clamped it shut and moved his gaze to Gendry. “You never told me you knew my sister,” he said accusingly before shifting his focus to Davos who had been standing there quietly as they argued. “Neither did you!”

Davos cleared his throat. “I was unaware of their being...acquainted with one another until recently.” 

Arya leaned back against Gendry’s chest and closed her eyes for a moment, as his hands came up to rub her arms. “Jon,” she said opening her eyes to see him glaring at Gendry again, “I promise I’ll explain everything, but just- not here. _ Please _ go with Davos, and I’ll be there soon.”

He eyed her suspiciously, then nodded slowly before turning to storm out of the room. Davos looked between her and Gendry, gave an exasperated sigh, and followed Jon through the door.

Arya shifted around to meet Gendry’s gaze. His face was pale, and she thought he looked like he might be sick. She grinned up at him wryly. “That could have gone worse,” she said. 

“Worse?” he choked out laughing as he pulled her close for a kiss. “How could that possibly have gone any worse?”

She smirked up at him. “He could have actually stabbed you.”


	16. Chapter 16

Jon was standing staring into the fire when she entered. He turned his head slightly at the sound of the door closing behind her, but he did not move to face her. 

She sighed. She’d known it was going to be hard, but this felt impossible.

“Jon,” she began, but he cut her off. 

“Tell me something,” he said leaning down to stoke the fire. “Are you here of your own free will?”

She blinked. “What?”

He stood and turned to face her, his expression apprehensive. “Are you here because you want to be? He’s not- You’re not...trapped?”

“What? No!” She moved across the room to stand in front of him, looking up into his eyes. “How can you say that? He would never-”

Jon laughed harshly. “He would never, huh?” He spun back around to the fire. “Clearly, he’s so very honorable that he would never do such a thing.” 

Outrage flooded through her, and she stomped in front of him, forcing him to look at her. “He hasn’t done anything that I didn’t ask for, Jon.”

He jerked back, his face horrified. “Gods, Arya. I didn’t need to know that!”

“Actually, you did,” she snapped. “I’ll not have you blaming him for something that is just as much my fault as his.”

He scowled down at her, and she met his gaze fiercely, refusing to back down. After a moment, he sighed, the fury on his face fading into concern. “Tell me truly, Arya, do you want to be here? Because I’ll carry you off myself if you don’t and damn anyone who tries to stop me.”

“Yes,” she said simply. “I am here because I want to be. I am going to have this babe because I want to. I am going to marry Gendry because I want to.”

He stared at her in disbelief. “Marry?” His voice was strangled. “You?”

“Yes, Jon, I love him, and I’m going to marry him.” 

He blinked at her. “You...love him,” he said dubiously before pressing his hands against his eyes and groaning loudly. “I don’t understand any of this. You’re pregnant. You love Gendry. You’re going to marry him. How did this happen?”

She smirked at him. “Well, you see, Jon, when a man and a woman-”

“Not that, Arya! Gods.” He moved to a nearby table and sat down heavily in a chair. “How do you even know him?”

Arya stared at him for a moment before moving to sit across from him. “When you came back to Winterfell, did Sansa tell you anything about where I’d been? About what happened to me?”

He shook his head. “Not really. I was just so happy you were alive, and then there was so much going on I never thought to ask.” He looked at her guiltily. “We never really got a chance to catch up, did we?”

“No, we didn’t,” she said. “I’m afraid that’s as much my fault as anything. I wasn’t ready to tell you any of it, wasn’t ready to see what you’d do.” She chewed on her lip for a moment. “You’ve no idea, Jon, no idea what I’ve done, what I’ve become. No idea what’s happened to me since leaving Winterfell all those years ago.”

He smiled sadly at her. “I know nothing,” he said softly, a strange look passing over his face. “I want to know, Arya. I want to know what happened to turn you into someone capable of ending the Night King.”

“And I want to know what happened to you too,” she said earnestly. “I know you didn’t spend all that time at the Wall sitting around. Who stuck a knife in you? Why? How in seven hells did you end up as King in the North?”

He chuckled. “We’ve got time for all that now, and I promise we’ll talk, but can we please start with Gendry? You met him the day Father died? I still don’t understand how.”

“I was there, you know, in the crowd when he died. I tried to get to him. I had Needle, and I-” She broke off, taking a shuddering breath. “He wasn’t supposed to die. He was supposed to go to the Wall, so Yoren was there to take him. But then Joffrey- Yoren grabbed me and hauled me out of there, turned my face so I didn’t see. He cut my hair off, called me boy, and told me I was going to the Wall with the rest of the recruits. That’s where I met Gendry.”

Jon frowned. “He was going to the Wall? Why?”

“At the time, he had no idea why his master got rid of him. Now, we think it must have been to protect him, to get him out of King’s Landing.” She paused. “I think father knew what he was. He met him, you know, came to his shop to see him.” 

“Father met Gendry?”

She smiled softly, nodding at him. “I think father would have liked him.” She was quiet for a moment, and then shook her head, trying to chase away the sorrow that thinking of her father always brought. “The Gold Cloaks came for him, Yoren died, we got captured and taken to Harrenhal.”

Jon drew in a sharp breath. “You were at Harrenhal?” he whispered, his face aghast.

She nodded. “We managed to escape, the two of us and a friend, Hot Pie. You’ll meet him later,” she said. “We were found by the Brotherhood, and then they sold him to the red witch. I thought he was dead until I saw him riding into Winterfell with you.” She sighed. “That’s the bare bones version, but Gendry was with me during some of the darkest days of my life, Jon. He’s…” She trailed off, trying to come up with the words, to explain what Gendry meant to her. “He’s pack. He always has been.”

Jon’s face twisted up into a wistful smile. “He knew who you were?”

“He was the only one who did after Yoren died.” She chuckled. “He recognized that I was a girl, called me on it. Panicked a bit when I told him, but he never told a soul. He kept it secret.”

“But why didn’t he tell me?” he asked, still sounding confused. “He went on about our fathers being friends, but he never said a word about you.”

“He thought I was dead, killed in the Red Wedding along with mother and Robb.”

Jon blinked. “I could have told him you weren’t.”

“Well, he’s always been a bit stupid,” she said fondly. 

He stared at her, a slightly amazed look in his eyes. “You really love him?”

She nodded and he shook his head in disbelief.

“And this,” he gestured to her stomach, looking doubtful. “I’m assuming this is why you’re not sailing west.”

“I did sail west.” 

He blinked at her.

“I ran away from him. From everything, but when I found out about the babe, I turned the ship around and came straight here.”

“And you’re...alright with this?” 

“I am,” she said. “I wasn’t sure at first, but the longer I’m here, the more right it feels.”

“But- Lady of Storm’s End?” He looked unsettled. “Arya, that’s not you.”

She cringed, the harsh reminder of her words ringing through her. “That’s what I told him when he proposed the night he was made a lord.” 

Jon’s face was stunned. “Wha-”

“But I was wrong,” she continued. “I was so very wrong. I am the Lady of Storm’s End, but _ only _ of Storm’s End. I couldn’t be the Lady of the Vale or the Hightower or probably not even the Lady of Winterfell. Only here, only with Gendry. He sees me for who I am, Jon. He loves me for who I am. He sees all my faults and all the things that make me a terrible lady, and he loves me because of them, not in spite of them. He’ll never ask me to be something I’m not because he knows exactly who I am, and that’s all he wants. Me.”

He stared at her for a long moment, emotions warring across his face, then he gave her a wistful smile and nodded before getting to his feet and coming around the table to pull her into his arms. She closed her eyes and rested her head on her brother’s shoulder, breathing in his presence. The hug they’d shared in Winterfell, in the Godswood, had been a reunion, this one felt like a restoration. 

***

They talked for hours, holding nothing back. She told him everything, from her time at King’s Landing to serving Tywin Lannister at Harrenhal to traveling with the Hound to Braavos and the Faceless Men to her revenge on the Freys. He took some of it in stride, but from the way his hands clenched into fists, she could tell her tale was hard for him to hear, the sorrow, anger, and regret clear in his eyes.

He told her about the Wall, his time with the Freefolk and falling in love, how he became Lord Commander, and how his men killed him. He spoke briefly of Dragonstone and meeting Daenerys, but the grief on his face had her pushing past it to what he’d been doing since they’d seen each other last. 

“There’s several settlements north of the Wall that we’re rebuilding,” he told her. “Although, most of the Freefolk intend to settle at Hardhome. Even after the battle, there’s still enough structures to house everyone, and it’s in a good location, there on the coast.”

She nodded, then frowned. “But if you were that far north, how did you know to come here?”

He snorted. “Bran.”

“What?”

“Bran,” he repeated. “At least, I think it was Bran. It’s not exactly natural behavior for flocks of ravens to harass someone onto a boat.”

She stared at him, bewildered.

He rubbed his face and huffed out a laugh. “About six weeks ago now. We’d been at Hardhome for a moon, and one day this mass of birds just showed up. They flew at me, sort of crowded me to the docks, and on to a boat. I tried getting off, but they just kept coming at me, shitting on me, and cawing incessantly. Didn’t do it to anyone else, just me. Eventually, I figured it must be Bran, and that it must be something important, so I followed the birds.” He laughed again. “Gods, that sounds idiotic, doesn’t it? ‘I followed the birds.’ Anyway, ended up at Eastwatch, and by the time I got there, they’d sent your note on, so I kept going.”

She let out a small disbelieving laugh. “Bran.”

Jon smiled. “Bran,” he repeated. “Maybe he’s not as unfeeling as he seemed.” 

They sat quietly for a moment, both thinking of their brother. “I wish we could all be together again,” she said sadly. 

Jon hummed, and she glanced at him. There was an odd look in his eyes, and Arya’s stomach clenched.

“You’re not leaving me again, are you?”

“Arya…” He sighed. “I can’t stay.”

“Why not? Because of that stupid banishment? That’s nonsense, and you know it.”

He ran his hands through his hair, his face miserable. “I’ll stay for a bit, Arya, but I just...can’t.”

She stared at him dismayed. She hadn’t actually thought much about what would happen once he arrived, but now she realized how much she didn’t want him to leave. “Jon, you don’t have to leave.”

He smiled sadly at her. “I do, though.” 

She started to protest, but he cut her off. “It’s not because of my banishment or because I don’t want to be here with you. I just...need time, alright?”

His face was sadder than she’d ever seen it. His journey had been painful, she knew, but killing the woman he loved or thought he loved, she didn’t really know which, it might have broken him. Arya watched him for a moment, debating whether to argue, if there was anything she could say that would help, but she just reached out to squeeze his hand and nodded. 

“You’ll stay for a bit though, won’t you?”

He nodded his head and gave her a half smile before reaching up to ruffle her hair. “If you’re actually getting married, then someone has to give you away.”

Warmth rushed through her. “Then you approve?” she asked hopefully.

He frowned. “I’m not sure if approve is the right word, but I believe you know your own mind.” His eyes darted down to her stomach, and his face darkened. “And I can’t say I’m thrilled with _ this _, but I am happy that you are here in Westeros and not off on some hare brained scheme that’s like to kill you.” He reached out to take her hands. “And if he truly loves you as you say he does, then I cannot ask for anything more for you.” He paused, a look of determination on his face. “But Arya, is this truly what you want?”

“It is. More than anything.” 

Jon gazed down at her for a moment, then nodded. “So I’m getting a niece or nephew then,” he said, still sounding slightly incredulous.

She smiled. “Niece, I think.”

A broad grin broke out on his face, and he laughed. “A mini-Arya? Gods help us all.”


	17. Chapter 17

By the time their conversation had covered everything she and Jon could think of, it was well past midnight, and Arya was exhausted. Yawning, she rose to her feet and swayed before promptly plopping right back down. 

“Can I just sleep here?” she asked, stifling another yawn. “I don’t think I can manage the stairs right now.”

Jon smiled at her fondly. “Course you can. It’ll be like when you used to sneak into my room after everyone else had gone to sleep.”

She started to open her mouth, to reminisce about those long ago nights, but whatever she’d been about to say was swallowed up by another yawn. Pulling herself up, she shuffled over to the couch and was about to curl up when Jon steered her through the door to the adjoining bedroom and tucked her under the covers.

“Sleep, little sister,” he whispered, and for just a moment she mused how nice it was to hear him say that again before drifting off.

***

She’d gotten used to having Gendry’s body wrapped around hers during the night, so when she woke to find herself all alone, it took her a moment to remember where she was. Jon. She was in Jon’s room. A storm had begun during the night, and while she was still adjusting to the constant storms, she’d come to love the steady beat of rain against the stone. It made her feel safe, protected within the walls of Gendry’s castle as the weather raged outside. Arya shifted under the heavy furs, trying to find a comfortable position, a task that was much harder than it used to be. Tucking a pillow under her belly, she burrowed down deeper into the mattress and closed her eyes, trying to let the sounds of the storm lull her back to sleep.

She could see someone moving about in the adjoining room through the cracked door. Jon, she supposed. She thought about getting up, about pulling herself out from under the blankets, about joining her brother in the next room to break their fast, but she really didn’t want to move. She was hungry and really needed to relieve herself, but the pillow she’d positioned beneath her was in an almost perfect spot, and moving even an inch might destroy her precarious comfort. So she just laid there quietly, ignoring her body’s needs, listening to the rain and her brother’s tuneless humming as he puttered about.

She was almost asleep again when she heard a faint knock from the other room, and she wondered idly if someone had sent food up. Food would be good. She might get up if it was food. Footsteps crossed the room and a door creaked open.

There was a very long moment of silence, then a thud, a grunt, and a sharp cry of pain. She shot up out of the bed, across the room, and was about to pull open the door when she heard Gendry chuckle, and she stilled, her hand inches from the wood. 

“Can’t say I blame you for that,” he said. “But that’s the only one you’re getting. You do that again, and I’ll knock you on your arse.”

Jon huffed. “That’s fair,” he grumbled. “Doesn’t mean I don’t want to do it again, though.”

There was silence again, and then she heard footsteps and the scrape of chairs across the floor. Neither of them spoke for several moments, then Gendry cleared his throat.

“Where is she?”

“Asleep. Is she the reason you came with me?”

“Yes.”

Jon let out a harsh laugh. “And you let me believe that it was because of our fathers. Because of their friendship.”

“I don’t give a shit about Robert Baratheon. Never did.” He said bluntly. “Davos saved my life, so when he came for me, I was more than ready to go with him, do whatever it was he asked of me. But then he said your name, and I couldn’t believe it. Arya’s brother. The one she went on and on about night after night. The King in the North. Again.” He sighed. “I don’t know, it seemed like fate or something, and I was going to tell you. Truly I was, but then I opened my mouth and all that shit about Robert Baratheon came pouring out instead.” 

He paused before continuing in a much quieter voice. “I thought she was dead. I’d spent the last several years living with the fact that one of the only people who ever cared for me was dead, and that it was partially my fault.”

Arya stiffened in shock. His fault?

“How could it possibly have been your fault?” Jon echoed her own confusion. 

She heard the scrape of a chair again and footsteps. “I left her, or was going to leave her. Didn’t seem to matter much which.”

“But you were sold, right? They sold you.”

Gendry huffed. “Aye, they did, but if I hadn’t decided to stay with the Brotherhood before that, we could have been gone by the time the red woman got there.” He paused. “They were going to sell her too, you know. Ransom her back to your brother. But we could’ve left, snuck away and made for it on our own.

“I don’t know what would’ve happened if we had. Maybe we would’ve made it to your brother and been slaughtered alongside of him. Maybe we’d’ve missed it and gone to the Wall to find you. Maybe the red woman would’ve found us anyway and taken us both.” He sighed again. “But the point is, I left her, and she died, or I thought she had, and I just couldn’t bring myself to tell her favorite brother that, to say it out loud. But I thought that maybe I could still do something for her. I couldn’t watch after her anymore, but I could watch after you as best I could. If there was anything I could do to keep you alive, then I was gonna do it.”

Jon was quiet for a moment. “Is that why you were so reluctant to leave me up there?”

Gendry didn’t respond, but she thought he must’ve nodded.

“I never could understand why you were so willing to go north of the Wall. Tormund’s… Tormund. Ser Jorah would have done anything for- Even Thoros, Lord Beric, and the Hound had their reasons, but you? You never made any sense.”

Gendry’s voice was quiet, but insistent. “I failed her once. I wasn’t going to fail her again by abandoning another Stark.”

“I’m not a Stark.” 

“You are to her.”

Jon didn’t respond right away. “If she was so important, then why’d you leave her?”

Gendry snorted. “We were on our way to her brother, the King in the North and her lady mother. What would you have done?”

Jon hummed in agreement.

“She couldn’t see it then, but I truly believed that leaving her was my only option. Her mother would never have allowed us to be friends, but she’d finally be safe, and that was all that mattered. I hated doing it, hated hurting her like that. I knew I’d broken her heart, but I thought it was for the best, and then after… After, all I could think was that my being so hung up on being a bastard got her killed. That if I’d just listened to her then, she might still be alive.” Gendry’s voice broke, then he continued in almost a whisper so quiet, she had to strain to hear him. “I spent years having to live with that. That I got my best friend killed.”

Arya listened, stunned at his guilt. He hadn’t told her any of that. Without thinking, she threw open the door, and they both jumped, looking startled at her sudden appearance. She strode across to where Gendry was standing in front of the fire and pulled his face down to hers, looking him straight in the eyes. 

“Even if I had died, it wouldn’t have been your fault, Gendry,” she said quietly. 

“But I left you,” he said plaintively. “You had no one, and I left.” He reached up to grasp her hands and pulled them to his chest. “I’m sorry, Arya. I’m so sorry for it.”

Her heart clenched at the memory of her devastation, how heartbroken she’d been when he told her he was staying and suddenly she was thirteen again, lost and alone. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, focusing on the feel of his hands on hers.

“It’s in the past now,” she said, looking up at him. Gendry opened his mouth, but she cut him off. “Are you planning on leaving me again?”

He shook his head, and she brought her hand up to the back of his head. “It’s in the past,” she repeated. “And that’s where we’ll leave it. We’ll never know what would have happened had you stayed, had we run away from the Brotherhood, but it doesn’t matter, Gendry. What matters is that we’re here. Together.”

He gazed at her for a long moment, then sighed and nodded. “I know, but it still weighs on me. It probably always will.”

She lifted up on her toes and pressed her forehead against his, and he wrapped his arms around her, tugging her close. “We both have things we regret,” she said softly, “and we both have to live with them.” They stood quietly for a moment, until Jon cleared his throat and they both jumped slightly. 

Arya turned to find her brother looking between them with a mildly uncomfortable expression. 

“So you really love each other, then?” 

They turned to look at each other and smiled, before turning back to Jon and nodding. Jon stared at them for a moment before eyeing Gendry suspiciously. “But you never… Before. When she was-” He cut himself off, a sick look on his face. 

“Gods, no!” Gendry immediately burst out. “She was three and ten!”

Jon closed his eyes in relief. “Alright. I don’t need to know anything else about-” He gestured vaguely between them, then his face darkened slightly. “I feel duty bound to threaten you with dismemberment if you hurt her, but I’m pretty sure she’d kill me if I did.” 

She bristled, but Gendry chuckled. “If I hurt her, she’d get to me long before you ever could, Jon.”

Her brother nodded. “Look, as long as Arya’s happy and safe, that’s all that matters to me.”

Arya’s heart filled with warmth, and she moved across to hug him tightly. “I am happy, Jon. I swear it.” 

He pulled back and smiled down at her softly. “My little sister,” he said, kissing her on the forehead. “You’ve grown up.” Then he grinned and placed his hand on top of her head. “Mostly.”

“Hey!” she said, feigning offense, but the relief she felt at Jon’s acceptance made her almost giddy. Her brother was there, he hadn’t tried to kill Gendry, and he didn’t seem too overly upset by the babe. It was more than she could have ever hoped for.

She held her hand out to Gendry who immediately crossed the room to take it. Tucking both of her arms through one of theirs, she looked up at the two most important men in her life and grinned. “Now which one of you is going to get my some breakfast? I’m starving.”


	18. Chapter 18

The arrival of Jon meant that they could finally think about the wedding. Gendry and Arya were both inclined to just marry the very next day after Jon’s arrival, but the look of horrified frustration on Davos’ face had convinced them that perhaps they ought to do the thing mostly properly for once. So a date was set, ravens were sent, and preparations began, the entire castle in a flurry of activity to get everything done in four weeks time.

She’d never dreamed of her own wedding. Not as a girl in Winterfell, and certainly not since she’d left. As a child, the idea of getting married was so foreign, so completely unthinkable that even when Sansa had play acted at being a bride, forcing her into various roles, it had never occurred to her that she might someday wed. 

She’d seen weddings, of course. Her father had made the godswood available to members of their household, and they had attended several of them over the years. But the last wedding she’d witnessed had been at least ten years before, and her memories were fuzzy at best. She knew there were cloaks, but other than that, she had no knowledge of what to expect. 

Jon told her of how the freefolk married, which she and Gendry both thought sounded much simpler than any ceremony, but Davos had strictly forbidden any carrying off of brides or grooms in the middle of the night. Her betrothed was no help at all, having never seen any kind of wedding before. He wasn’t particularly concerned with the how of it all, his only requirement being that they actually ended up married once it was all done. 

Arya tended to agree with Gendry on this. She only wanted to marry him, not caring too much how. But the majority of Southron weddings were done under the faith of the seven, and although Arya had not truly followed the old gods in years, something about wedding Gendry in a sept just didn’t sit right with her. 

So one afternoon, about a week after Jon’s arrival, Arya, Gendry, and Davos found themselves in the Storm’s End godswood staring at what was left of the weirwood after Stannis Baratheon had burned it years before. The trunk of the tree was enormous, at least eight feet across and more than three times as tall. Most of the smaller limbs had been lost to the flames, but the thicker branches had remained, leaving a blackened skeleton behind.

“Well, that’s not what I’d hoped for,” Arya grumbled, reaching out to brush her hand against the remnants of the carved face. She’d not yet visited the godswood before then, and she was kicking herself for not taking the time earlier. If she’d come sooner, she could have sent word to Sansa to find a small weirwood they could have transplanted, but with only three weeks to go, there was no time for that. 

Gendry moved up to stand beside her, wrapping his arm around her waist. She turned to see him staring at the remains of the heart tree, a thoughtful expression on his face. After a moment, he glanced down at her. 

“Does it have to be a weirwood?” he asked. 

Arya stepped back and slowly spun around to take it all in. It’d been years since the red woman had set fire to the trees, and although there were broken, charred trunks everywhere, the godswood had begun recovering. New trees had sprouted, some as high as ten feet tall.

She bit her lip and thought, trying to remember. “Not all godswoods have weirwoods as their heart tree. The one in King’s Landing didn’t.”

Gendry walked over to one of the taller trees, and examined it closely. “What about this one?”

She moved next to him and eyed it doubtfully. “It’s an oak tree,” she said flatly.

He looked up at the bare branches. “Nice though,” he mused. “A nice oak tree.” 

“I don’t know,” she said frowning. “It just doesn’t feel right.”

Gendry’s mouth twisted up in thought as he looked around at the surrounding trees. “Does it have to be a living weirwood?”

She blinked, then moved back to stand in front of the burnt trunk, her gaze roaming over the charred branches. “I don’t know,” she admitted. Something tickled at the back of her mind, something her mother had said, years ago. “I feel like I’ve heard of a godswood somewhere with a dead weirwood as the heart tree, maybe somewhere in the Riverlands.” She turned to Davos, who had been listening quietly. “Do you know what I’m talking about?”

He shook his head. “I’m afraid my limited education did not include details of that sort, but Jurne might know.”

“No,” she said quickly. “I don’t think it matters. Dead, alive, or burnt, we’re going to marry in front of a weirwood. I just can’t picture anything else.” 

Gendry stepped up behind her, leaning down and propping his head on her shoulder and kissing her on the cheek. “If that’s what you want, love, that’s what we’ll do,” he said. “We can get these dead trees cleared out, though. Make space for all those lords who will probably insist on being here to witness this.” He paused. “Davos, do you know if anyone’s responded yet?”

Davos stepped up beside them and nodded. “Lords Buckler, Fell, and Errol have confirmed they’ll be attending, as has Lord Tarth. I expect we’ll be hearing from the rest soon.” He swiveled his gaze to Arya. “We’ve not heard from his grace yet. Do you think he’ll make the journey?”

She frowned, thinking about Bran. He’d been so emotionless the last time she’d seen him, so completely detached. But then he’d sent Brienne here and he’d forced Jon on to that boat with his ravens, so maybe he wasn’t as unfeeling as he seemed. “I hope so,” she said honestly. “He’s still my brother, even if he is the king.” 

Behind her, Gendry let out a small huff of laughter, and she twisted her head back to look at him. “What?”

He wrapped his arms around her, his hands resting on her stomach, and he laughed again. “It’s just- How in seven hells did I get here? From Flea Bottom to...this. Worrying about the king attending my wedding.” His face was incredulous, and she turned around to wrap her arms around his neck. 

“We took the long road,” she said softly before pulling his face down to hers. “But we got here in the end.” 

He smiled, his eyes crinkling up as he did. “Is this the end?” he asked, his head tilted to one side.

She shook her head and grinned. “No, it’s just the beginning.”

***

Arya was almost regretting not being a wildling. The past several weeks of wedding preparations had convinced her that snatching Gendry out of bed in the middle of the night and marching him to the godswood had to be simpler than this. And now, with the ceremony only hours away, she was sitting in front of Bella’s dressing table, ready for this all to be done with and glowering at her soon to be good sister who was smiling blithely at her in the mirror. 

“Glare all you want, Arya,” she said cheerfully. “You’re not moving from this chair until I’m done with you.”

Mya laughed and moved to plop down on Bella’s bed next to where Arya’s wedding gown was laid out. “She’s serious, you know. Nothing will dissuade her once she’s made up her mind, so you might as well just let her get to it.”

Arya huffed out an irritated breath. “Fine,” she said, and Bella’s face lit up as she clapped her hands in glee. “But don’t you dare do anything too elaborate.”

Bella rolled her eyes. “Do you really think I’d do that to you?” she asked. “Give you some ridiculous braided thing with jewels and heavy golden chains?”

Arya was silent for a moment. “No,” she said begrudgingly. “I don’t.” 

Bella picked up a brush and began running it through Arya’s hair, the motion suddenly reminding her of her mother and her attempts to tame the wild bird’s nest that had been her hair. She inhaled sharply at the weight of the memory, her chest heavy with unexpected sorrow. She was about to be wed, and neither of her parents were there to see it.

“Sorry!” Bella chirped. “Didn’t mean to pull.”

Arya shook her head. “You didn’t,” she said, her voice sounding extremely small and fragile. 

Bella’s hand stilled. “Are you all right?” she asked quietly. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Mya pulling herself off the bed and drawing closer. 

She shook her head again, biting her lip and hating herself a little when she felt her eyes start to water.

“It’s not...Gendry, is it?” Mya asked, and Arya shook her head immediately.

“No, it’s just-” Her throat was tight, and her voice was quivering slightly. “My mother used to do that. Brush my hair.” She took a deep breath and shifted in her chair to face them. “No one’s brushed my hair since before she died. I just- I try not to think of her, of my father, my brothers, but I’m about to be married. I’m a woman grown, about to be married with a child of my own, and they’re not here. There’s so many people who should be here, and they’re not.” 

Bella and Mya were both looking at her with sad eyes, their expressions concerned but sympathetic. Mya reached out to grasp her hand, squeezing it gently, and she felt several tears roll down her face. 

Arya glanced away, exhaling shakily before meeting their gaze again. “I’m sorry,” she said, wiping at her eyes. “It just kind of hit me all at once.”

“Don’t apologize,” Bella said. “You have every right to miss your mother on your wedding day.”

Mya nodded earnestly. “It’s a big day. One that means a lot to you. It’d be strange if you didn’t miss them. Plus,” she added, glancing down at her stomach, “if you can’t cry when you’re pregnant, when can you cry?”

Arya let out a shaky laugh and looked between them, grateful for their presence in her life, but suddenly missing Sansa far more than she expected, a sort of bittersweet ache blooming in her chest at the conflicting emotions that were surging through her.

“It’s strange,” she said. “I’m happier than I’ve ever been here, but everything that led me here was awful. The things I went through, no one should ever have to endure those, but without them, I never would have met Gendry. If none of this had ever happened, I’d have my family, but I wouldn’t have him, and I honestly don’t know what’s worse.” 

They were quiet for a moment, then Bella asked, “Have you talked to Gendry about this at all? About your family?”

Arya shook her head. “Not really.”

“Maybe you should,” Mya said, lips pursed in thought. “Not, you know, tonight or anything,” she said, her eyes twinkling in amusement. “But you should talk to him about it. He’s not bad with feelings, you know.”

She bit her lip and wiped at her eyes again, then nodded. “He’s all right,” she said, smiling softly.

Bella gave her a lopsided smile before pulling her out of her chair and into a hug, Mya’s arms only seconds behind. The three of them stood there for several long moments, the tightness in Arya’s chest loosening a little more with every passing second. Finally, she pulled back to gaze at them, trying to come up with the words that conveyed how she was feeling. 

“I’m glad you’re both here,” she said finally, which she knew was inadequate, but they both smiled at her, and she thought that maybe they understood.

“We’re glad you’re here too,” Bella said softly, picking up the hairbrush again. “Now sit back down and let me do your hair.” 

Bella pulled Arya’s hair back into a simple half braid, a few wispy tendrils framing her face. “Almost done,” she said, a glint in her eyes. “One last thing.” Bella crossed the room to open a small wooden box on top of a table against the wall. She removed something, but Arya couldn’t see what it was, Bella holding it behind her back as she moved back to stand behind her again. “Close your eyes,” she commanded.

Arya gave her a quizzical look in the mirror, but decided to humor her and obeyed. She felt something lightly settle on top of her head, then Bella’s hands tucking pins into her hair. 

“Open your eyes.” 

On top of her head was a delicate wreath of embroidered golden fabric leaves, held together with strips of green. She stared at it for a moment, a long forgotten melody flitting through her mind as she lifted her hand to brush against the crown.

“He said, ‘Tell her it’s not a gown, but I’ll still be her forest love’,” Mya said. 

Arya closed her eyes and smiled, a rush of love for him flooding through her. Opening her eyes, she turned to look at his sisters who were both watching her curiously, but she couldn’t bring herself to explain. This was something just for them. Instead, she stood and moved to where her dress was lying across Bella’s bed. 

It had been a bit of a fight, convincing the seamstress that she didn’t want some extravagant creation for her wedding gown, but in the end she’d gotten what she asked for, a simple, pale grey dress with embroidered silver direwolves running along the hem. The maiden cloak was a heavy grey fur, the Stark sigil emblazoned on the back, although she thought, dropping her hand to feel the babe somersaulting inside her, she wasn’t sure if it could technically be considered a _ maiden’s _ cloak seeing as how she was decidedly _ not _ a maiden. 

Shaking the thought away, she stepped into her gown, standing patiently as Bella and Mya laced up the back, brushed out the skirts, and adjusted her sleeves. 

“There,” Mya said, stepping back to take her in. “You look positively radiant.” Bella nodded in agreement beside her.

Arya flushed slightly at the praise. Despite Gendry constantly calling her beautiful, she still had a hard time believing it. So she simply took a deep breath and smiled, afraid to speak lest she start crying again.

From the outer room, she heard a knock sound at the door, and she stood, Mya and Bella trailing behind her as she went to open the door.

Jon was standing there, looking so much like her father that it almost took her breath away. “Are you ready?” he asked, smiling down at her

She stepped back to let him enter. “Almost,” she said, then turned to Gendry’s sisters. “Would you give us a minute?” 

Bella and Mya both gave her a quick hug, and then she and Jon were alone. Neither of them spoke for several long moments, then he reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. 

“He’d be so proud of you,” he said quietly, a wistful expression on his face. “They all would be.”

A lump formed in her throat, and she felt herself start to tear up again. Jon’s smile dropped slightly, and he lifted his hand to wipe her cheek before leaning down to peer into her eyes. “Only happy tears today, all right?”

She nodded, smiling through watery eyes and took his outstretched hand. 

“One last chance to run, little sister,” he said, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm.

Arya smiled at him, knowing that although his tone of voice was joking, if she had asked it of him, Jon would take her away from all of it in a moment. She drew her shoulders back and shook her head. “The only place I’m running to is Gendry’s side,” she said, squeezing his hand. “Now take me to my groom.”


	19. Chapter 19

The entrance to the godswood was lit on either side by two glowing lanterns. Inside, through the mist she could see the soft, flickering light of countless more illuminating the faces of their guests who were all turned to where she stood, arm in arm with Jon, her heart beating so quickly she thought it might jump out of her chest.

_ Calm as still water _ . 

She took several deep breaths and tightened her grip on Jon’s arm, then glanced up at him and nodded. Together, they made their way down the path between the gap of people lining either side of the godswood. There were castle servants, soldiers, and people from the village smiling at her, visiting lords and ladies eyeing her with blatant curiosity, Elyn and Alara standing side by side with tears in their eyes, Hot Pie looking like Hot Pie, Edric, Bella, and Mya all beaming at her, Bran in his wheelchair watching almost impassively, but for a faint quirk of his lips, and Davos with a look of incredulous relief. But she barely saw any of them. 

The moment her eyes fell on Gendry, standing nervously next to the blackened weirwood, everything else faded away. There was nothing but him, and every step she took felt monumentally significant. Like her entire life, every hurt, every smile, every sorrow, had been leading her here. To this misty godswood, this tree, this man.

A step. Her father. Another step. Her mother. Step. Robb. Step. Rickon. Step. Sandor. Step. Harrenhal. Step. The Twins. Step. Braavos. Step. Winterfell and those sacks of grain. Step. King’s Landing. Step. Her ship. Step. That island. Step. Gendry.

And then there he was, right in front of her, just a few feet away, gazing at her like she was the only thing that existed, like there was nothing else in the universe save for them. 

Davos cleared his throat and stepped forward. “Who comes before the gods?”

Jon spoke, his voice echoing through the trees. “Arya of House Stark. A woman grown, trueborn and noble. She comes to beg the blessings of the gods. Who comes to claim her?”

Gendry’s smile was blinding. “Gendry of House Baratheon. Who brings her?”

“I bring her,” Jon said. “Jon Snow, her brother who loves her. Who gives her?”

Arya took a deep breath. “I give myself,” she said clearly, smirking slightly at the faint muttering she heard from the watching crowd. 

“Arya,” Jon said. “Do you take this man?”

Her eyes were locked on Gendry’s. “I take this man,” she answered without hesitation.

It wasn’t until she felt Jon pull his arm from hers that she finally tore her gaze from Gendry’s face. Jon leaned down to kiss her gently on the forehead before taking her hand and placing it in Gendry’s, then stepping over to join Davos as he moved back to make room for the septon. 

Neither of them had really had any expectations for the ceremony, and after much discussion had settled for a mixture of both Northern and Southron traditions, much to Davos’ relief who felt that this might appease any lords who would grumble over the lack of a sept wedding. 

Septon Alyn stepped forward and nodded at each of them, a slightly reserved look on his face as he spoke. “Lord Baratheon, you may cloak your bride.” 

Gendry reached up to untie the Stark cloak, carefully sliding it off and placing it in her arms before swinging his own black and gold Baratheon cloak over her shoulders. “I see you got my gift,” he whispered, his eyes darting up to the crown of golden leaves on her head. 

“I can’t believe you remember that,” she whispered back, smiling softly as his hands tugged his cloak around her neck.

“Course I do,” he said, sliding a hand up to cup her cheek.

Septon Alyn cleared his throat, and they both started. “Lady Arya,” he said in a tone of mild disapproval. “You may cloak your groom.”

The gasps from a few of the surrounding guests made them both grin, but Gendry simply bowed his head and waited as she swung the dark grey fur over his shoulders, then reached out to take her hand in his as they both turned to face the septon, their clasped hands held up between them.

It took a moment for the septon to pull the long piece of fabric from under his robes. “In the sight of the gods, I hereby seal these souls,” he said, winding the cloth around their hands, “binding them for all eternity.” He looked between them, inclining his head. “Look upon one another and say the words.”

She turned to face Gendry, her heart feeling so full she thought it might burst. He gazed down at her tenderly before leaning forward to press his forehead against hers as they recited the words together. 

“I am his. He is mine.”  
“I am hers. She is mine.”

“From this day, until the end of my days.”

There was a moment of silence as they breathed each other in, then the septon spoke. “Let it be known that Arya of House Stark and Gendry of House Baratheon are one heart, one flesh, one soul, now and forever. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder.” 

Arya felt Gendry let out a shaky breath against her skin, then before the septon could say another word, he pushed forward to kiss her, his hands grasping at her waist to pull her as close as he could, lips smiling against hers. 

After a moment he pulled back slightly to rest his forehead against hers, and in a tone of wonder whispered, “wife.”

A giddiness spread through her. “Wife,” she confirmed before pressing her lips to his again then whispering back to him, “husband.”

Gendry’s face broke into a broad smile. “Husband.” He kissed her one more time and then swept her up into his arms to carry her back to the castle, exiting the godswood to the sound of riotous applause. 

“Gods, Gendry,” she said laughing. “Put me down. I’m enormous.”

“You’re not enormous,” he said stubbornly, walking swiftly through the grounds. “You’re pregnant. And if I want to carry my  _ wife _ , then nothing’s gonna stop me.” The determined expression suddenly slid off his face, and his steps faltered. “Do you really want me to put you down?” he asked, brows furrowed. 

She stared at him for a moment, then shook her head. “No. I think I would like my  _ husband _ to carry me, even if this babe does make it awkward.”

He beamed at her. “Husband,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m your husband now.” 

“And I’m your wife.” 

He blinked, then chuckled softly before leaning in to kiss her again. “Come on then,” he said. “I think we’re supposed to hide for a bit. Let everyone get into the round hall before we show up.”

He moved quickly, carrying her through the courtyard to the doors of the keep. “Davos said we should wait in here,” he said, kicking open a door just off the entryway. “He’ll send someone to get us when they’re ready for us.” 

Setting her down, he gave her no time at all before he was kissing her again, his hands cradling her face as he murmured happily against her lips. “Wife. Wife. Wife. Wife.” She lost herself in the feel of him pressed against her. In his hands stroking up and down her back. In the sheer delight in his voice. In the heat that was spreading through her.

She wasn’t sure how long they stood there, wrapped around each other, but the sound of people moving past the door pulled her from her Gendry induced haze, and she drew back to meet his hungry gaze. “How long do you think we have?” she asked breathlessly.

He smirked down at her, then pulled her over to the small couch that had been placed against the wall. “Never long enough,” he said, sitting down and drawing her to stand between his legs. “But if we’re quick about it, there could be more than one bedding tonight.” 

One of his hands moved to the laces of his breeches, the other assisting her in gathering up her skirts before he turned her around so that she only had to sit back onto his lap to take him in. It was quick and a little bit clumsy, but the sounds of the crowd just outside somehow seemed to heighten everything. Every touch. Every gasp. Every stroke of his fingers multiplied by the risk of someone opening the door had her shuddering around him in record time, Gendry only seconds behind her. 

He dropped his head onto her back breathing heavily. “Seven hells, Arya,” he groaned. “You’re amazing.” 

She twisted her head around to smile at him. “And don’t you ever forget it,” she teased, lifting herself off his lap. She quickly smoothed out her skirts, smirking as he tucked himself back into his breeches. “How many other highborn ladies would let their lord husband fuck them in a…” She glanced around. “A guards room? before the feast even started.” 

He reached out to grasp her hands and pulled her close, nuzzling her nose with his. “You’re the only highborn lady I’ve ever wanted, m’lady, and now I’ve got you. Both of you,” he said moving his hands to cradle her stomach. “Until the end of my days.”

She gazed down at him, feeling softer than she ever thought she could. “Until the end of my days,” she repeated quietly, a lump welling up in her throat. 

“You all right?” he asked, tilting his head, and she nodded wordlessly. He seemed to read something in her face because his eyes softened. Drawing her down to sit on his lap, he wrapped his arms around her and rested his head on her shoulder. “Good.”

They sat there quietly, soaking in each other and listening to the sounds of the feast getting underway. Music spilling out from the hall, servants shouting, and the loud chatter of hundreds of people, but neither seemed willing to move, to escape the tiny room where it was just them, just Arya and Gendry. 

When the knock sounded and Davos’ voice rang out, “Lad? May I come in?” they looked at each other, unspoken words passing between them, and they stood, moving together to open the door. Davos eyed them both warily, having interrupted them enough times to be understandably cautious, but apparently their hasty encounter had left them both in a respectable state because he looked relieved when he saw their appearance. 

“Lord and Lady Baratheon,” he said with a smile. “Your feast awaits.” 

  
  


The roar of sound that hit them when they stepped through the doors into the round hall almost knocked her off her feet, but Gendry’s firm hand on the small of her back grounded her. As they made their way to the head table where their families and friends waited, she couldn’t help but smile. The long road, indeed. 


	20. Chapter 20

The feast flew by. Hot Pie had outdone himself, the weeks of experimenting with various recipes he’d pop up with out of nowhere had clearly paid off, everyone raving over his creations. She’d danced, albeit a bit more slowly than she would have liked, with Gendry, with Jon, with lords she knew and lords she didn’t, with smallfolk and soldiers and servants. There was no call for a bedding, Davos having not so subtly spread the word that anyone who attempted to disrobe her would probably lose a finger or two, but there were quite a few bawdy words thrown their way as they left the round hall together. 

Overall, they both considered the wedding a success. The stormlords seemed pleased, especially at the presence of Bran, who had sat placidly listening to suggestions, complaints, and boasts from a variety of them all evening. He stayed for a fortnight, long after the visiting lords had left, and although he still sat silently most of the time, Arya could see flashes of her younger brother through the veil of his detachment. When he’d left to return to King’s Landing, he embraced her and Jon both, a genuine smile on his face as he promised to return to meet the babe. She almost asked him if everything was going to be all right, but as she wasn’t actually sure if he could see the future or not, she simply smiled and said she looked forward to it.

According to Elyn, the babe likely still had another four or five weeks of growing left, although privately she couldn’t see how that was possible. Her stomach was so large already, and it seemed that every time the babe moved, which happened all the time now, she was kicked in the ribs or punched in the bladder. Arya just couldn’t see how there was any more room, but she trusted that Elyn knew what she was talking about, so she tried to wait patiently, no matter how tired she got.

Because she was tired. Tired and cranky and sore, and ready to be done with being pregnant. She kept getting what Elyn told her were false labor pains, though they felt pretty real to her. 

“It’s your body getting ready, dear,” Elyn said, when Arya asked about the waves of discomfort that would hit her at random times during the day. “It’s never done this before, and it needs to prepare itself.”

Her body wasn’t the only one preparing either. One night, about a week after Bran left, she got kicked particularly hard, and she was hit with a sudden wave of panic that they weren’t actually ready. She’d flown around their chambers, pulling out stacks of tiny clothes and blankets, counting the intricately carved animals Davos had made, and promptly concluded that they were in no way prepared to actually care for a child. Gendry found her frantically wiping down the cradle that he and Davos had made, clothes and blankets strewn everywhere.

“Arya?” She whirled around to see his concerned gaze traveling around the room, taking in the mess she’d made. “Is everything all right?”

“No! We’re not ready, Gendry!” Her voice was shrill. “What are we thinking? We haven’t done anything. We don’t have enough clothes or blankets or toys. I don’t know what I’m doing. Why would anyone let me have a child? I can barely take care of myself! How am I going to keep a babe alive?”

He moved quickly and pulled her into his arms, shushing her gently, but he didn’t speak.

“We haven’t even really talked about names yet! How can we be good parents if we can’t even come up with a name for people to call them? Oh gods, Gendry. We have to come up with a name they’ll have for the rest of their life. What if it’s terrible? What if they hate it? What if they hate us?” 

She knew she was babbling. She could feel the panic rising through her, and somewhere deep inside, she knew that it was irrational, but she couldn’t stop it spilling out.

“What if I’m terrible at this? What if they want a mother who can sew and sing and play the harp or arrange flowers? What if-“

Gendry’s fingers were on her lips, stilling her words. He was looking at her with a mixture of concern and amusement. “You’re going to be an amazing mother, love,” he said softly. “I promise you that.”

“But-“

“No,” he said firmly. “You _ love _, you love so deeply, Arya, and you’re going to love this babe so much. And I-” He cut himself off, a troubled look on his face.

“You what?”

He gazed at her for a long moment, then sighed heavily. “Out of the two of us, you’re not the one who’s inevitably going to be shit at parenting.”

Arya pulled back and stared at him in disbelief. “What?”

He started to step back, but she slipped her arms around him and pulled him closer. “Why would you say that?”

“Because it’s true,” he said quietly. “I don’t know how to be a father. I never had one.” He was looking down at her, a sad expression on his face.

She blinked, the panic that had threatened to overwhelm her vanished, replaced by the need to reassure him. “That’s ridiculous. You’re going to be so good at this, Gendry. You take such good care of everyone here in Storm’s End and the Stormlands, and-”

“That’s different,” he interrupted. “I’ve got Davos and Jurne and advisors telling me what to do, but this…” He reached out to rest a hand on her stomach. “This is so, so much more important than that, and I can’t just leave this to other people. I’ll not have someone else raise our child, Arya. This is our job, not some septa’s, but gods, I’m terrified.” His eyes were wide and unsettled, and she stared at him a moment before letting out a small huff of laughter.

“Why haven’t you said anything to me about this?” she asked, wrapping her arms around his neck.

He had the grace to look a little embarrassed. “You’ve seemed so very calm about it all, and I didn’t want you to think me incapable.”

Arya snorted and gestured to the mess on their bed. “Clearly, I’m not calm, nor am I feeling at all capable myself.”

“You should’ve talked to me.”

“Well, you should’ve talked to me, stupid.”

They stared at each other for a moment before chuckling. “I guess we’ve both been pretty stupid, haven’t we?” he said, rubbing his head. 

She nodded her head, and then took his hand to pull him over to sit on the bed next to her. “All right, so let’s talk. It’s obvious that both of us need some reassurance, so what can we do about that?”

Gendry frowned. “Well, I think we’re about as physically prepared as we can be.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but he held up a hand. “Look, Arya, there’s more than enough clothes and blankets here. Your sister has seen to that, and even if this babe manages to mess up every piece of clothing Sansa sent, there’s still everything your brother left and what your uncle sent and your cousin and all the Storm lords. We’re fine on that front.”

Clamping her mouth shut, she had to admit that he was right. They really did have more than enough. “Fine,” she grumbled.

“But,” he continued, “you’re right about a name. We should have talked more about that by now.”

When she was a child at Winterfell, she’d loved suggesting names for people’s babes, but somehow, when it came to the one growing inside her, she was at a complete loss. She chewed on her lip, thinking, but there was nothing. She looked up at Gendry. “Do you have a preference?”

He shook his head immediately. “You’re the one doing all the work here. I want you to be happy with it.”

“But it’s your decision too, stupid.”

A small smile crossed his lips, and he nodded. “All right. Let’s think about this then. What would you want for a boy?”

“Not a boy,” she answered immediately.

“You can’t know that, Arya,” he said exasperatedly.

“Yes, I can.”

“No, you can’t.”

“Can.”

He stared at her for a moment, then sighed. “Fine. No boy names, then.” He paused, then asked cautiously, “Would you want to use your mother’s name?”

She had thought quite a lot about this and had come to the conclusion that she’d rather not name her child after her dead parents. At least not yet. Perhaps in the future, but she wasn’t entirely keen on the idea at the moment, and she told him this.

“You want more?” he asked quietly, his eyes shining. 

“Don’t you?”

He nodded at her, almost shyly, and she couldn’t help the wave of love that washed over her. Reaching out, she laced her fingers through his. “Let’s get through this one first, all right?” She teased. “But I know how much a family means to you, and I’m not going anywhere. So yes, Gendry, there’ll likely be more.”

His face broke out into a broad smile, and he leaned over to kiss her forehead. “So not after your mother then.”

“No,” she said firmly.

“After your sister?”

She shook her head.

“Your aunt? The one everyone says you look like? Jon’s mother?”

“The one who everyone thinks the entire war was fought over because she didn’t become a Baratheon?” Arya scrunched up her nose. “I wouldn’t want to put that legacy on a babe.” She paused, hit with a sudden thought. “Do you know your mother’s name?”

Gendry blinked at her, then his face screwed up in concentration. After a moment, his expression turned sad and he shook his head. “I don’t. She was only ever ‘ma’ to me.”

Sorrow bloomed in her chest at the thought of Gendry as a boy, losing his mother. “How old were you?” she asked softly, leaning over to rest her head on his shoulder.

She felt him shrug slightly. “Little. Four. Maybe five.” 

“Hmm,” she hummed. “I wonder if Bran could find out for you. Would you like me to ask him?” She turned to find him gazing down at her with a strangely wistful expression.

“You really think he could?” he asked hopefully.

“Don’t see why not. He found the truth of Jon’s parents. He should be able to find yours.”

He turned his head, looking at nothing, then nodded. “I’d like that, if he can.”

They were both silent for a moment. 

“What about a Baratheon name?” she asked, and he immediately wrinkled his nose in distaste.

“I’m not naming my child after that drunk king or that man who tried to have me burnt.”

She snorted. “There’s other Baratheons, you know. Your grandmother’s name was Cassana.”

“Huh.” He stared at her for a moment then shook his head. “It’s not a bad name, but I don’t know. It doesn’t feel right.”

She hummed noncommittally, thinking, then groaned. “Why is this so hard? You know, Jon said the Freefolk don’t name their children until they’re two or so.”

He gave her an incredulous look. “You want to wait until our child is two to give them a name?”

“No, but I want to get it right. We don’t have to choose a name right now.” She bit her lip thinking. “So how about this. We think about it, and we both try to come up with some options.”

He nodded and stood, pulling her to her feet. “I can do that. Now come on, Bella and Mya sent me to fetch you for dinner. They’ll have my head if we’re too much longer.”

She grinned at him, feeling slightly ridiculous at her outburst and a bit better now that she realized he was just as insecure about becoming a parent as she was. 

“Promise me something?” 

She tilted her head quizzically.

He leaned forward to press his forehead against hers, looking her straight in the eyes. “Next time you get in a state about any of this, you come to me, yeah? None of this ‘Let’s throw everything around the room in a blind panic’ stuff.”

“Promise me something,” she replied, meeting his gaze. “Next time you think you’re going to be anything less than an absolutely incredible father, you come to me so I can knock some sense into you.” She paused. “And so we can panic together.”

Gendry chuckled. “Promise. We do this together. No matter what.”


	21. Chapter 21

The days seemed interminable, the weeks endless. Arya was convinced she’d be pregnant forever, cursed to carry a babe inside her for the rest of her life, and that nothing she did would ever budge their child from her womb. 

“Elyn said four weeks. It’s been nearly five!” She was in Bella’s rooms, sprawled uncomfortably on the sofa, methodically working her way through a plate of a sweet, prickly fruit from Dorne that she’d heard women there used to induce labor. 

Bella gave her a sympathetic look and tutted softly. “You can’t rush it, Arya. It’ll happen when it happens.”

The babe moved, and she looked down to see her stomach shifting beneath her clothes. Groaning, she popped another piece of fruit in her mouth and chewed. “It’s never going to happen,” she mumbled around it. “I’m going to be this big forever.” Swallowing, she reached for another piece and winced as the babe pushed hard against her. “Everyone has advice. ‘Take a walk, eat spicy food, have sex.’ Well, let me tell you, I have walked miles around this stupid castle. Hot Pie found me the spiciest peppers known to man, and Gendry and I have had a truly obscene amount of sex in the past two weeks, even for us, and nothing!” She glared at her fruit. “And this isn’t helping either!”

Bella stared at her a moment. “Right. I think you need a break.”

Arya sat up, protesting, but Bella held up a hand to quiet her. “Hear me out. You’re too focused on what’s not happening right now. You need to distract yourself. Go find your brother. Get him to take you for a walk and tell you more stories about the freefolk or something. I know how much you like those.”

She glowered at her good sister for a moment, then sighed. “Fine,” she said begrudgingly. “Maybe this time, something will happen on my fiftieth turn around the courtyard.” She struggled to her feet, waving away Bella’s hand. At the door, she stopped and turned. “I’m not meaning to snap at you or anything-”

Bella laughed. “It’s fine, Arya. I’m not offended. Just go find Jon, all right?”

Jon had slipped easily into their life at Storm’s End, accompanying her to the village, sitting with Gendry during petitions, training with the guards. She’d hoped that he might be persuaded to stay, but he still seemed determined to return to the North, no matter how many hints she dropped. 

She found him with Gendry and Davos in the library, going over some papers. All three men looked up as she entered breathing heavily, Jon and Gendry both moving to meet her, looks of concern on their faces.

“You all right, love?” Gendry asked, guiding her to a chair, as Jon handed her a goblet of water. 

“Fine, I’m fine,” she insisted. “Just a little winded from the stairs.” She turned to Jon. “Would you walk with me for a bit?”

He broke into a smile. “Course I will.” 

She started to lift herself up, but Gendry and Jon both reached out to stop her. “Catch your breath first,” Gendry said, catching her hand in his. 

She wanted to argue, to tell him that she was perfectly fine, but she knew he was right, so she just nodded and breathed in deeply, trying not to wince every time the babe moved. 

“I swear, she’s trying to kick the wrong way out,” she grumbled, and Jon laughed. She glared at him, and he laughed again. 

“Come on, then,” he said reaching out to pull her to her feet. “Let’s see if we can’t walk her out today.”

She turned to Gendry, who was watching her with a soft smile. “I’ll see you later?”

He nodded and kissed her quickly before leaning down to speak sternly to her stomach. “I know you’re quite cozy in there, but you’re making your mama very uncomfortable, so let’s see what we can do about that, all right?”

She rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help the smile that spread over her face at her husband’s words. Despite his worries, she knew he was going to be a natural father. If the babe ever decided to come out, that is.

***

“And then Tormund gives her this look, very suggestively eating his meat-”

She snorted. 

“Not like that, Arya,” he scolded, laughing. “Gods. I never thought you’d grow up to have such a dirty mind. Poor Ser Brienne, though. She didn’t seem to know what to do with him.”

“I can understand that,” she said, gripping his arm a little tighter as they walked past the battlements. “Tormund seems very...intense. And she is rather impressive, so I can see why he- Oh!” She stopped, her breath knocked out of her at the sudden spasm in her abdomen. 

“Arya?” Jon was leaning down to peer at her, his face creased in concern. “Was that-”

After a moment, the pain faded, and she looked up at him, her eyes wide. “I don’t know,” she said uncertainly. It had hurt, but it was nothing like she’d heard the pains of childbirth described. “That was definitely new.” 

“Do you want to go back?”

She shook her head. “Just hang on a minute.” She stood waiting for several minutes, holding tightly to his arm, but the sharp discomfort did not return. Disappointed, she turned to Jon. “Nothing,” she said frowning. “Let’s keep walking.” 

They continued on silently, across the top of the wide curtain wall, looking out over Shipbreaker Bay. In the distance, Arya could see dark clouds swirling. She’d gotten adept at recognizing the signs of an imminent storm, and from the looks of it, the one currently forming was going to be fierce, one to rattle the stones.

“So what did Torm-” She broke off with a cry, stopping in her tracks and clutching at her abdomen. She could feel the tightness in her stomach, the skin hard beneath her hands. 

Jon’s eyes were wide when she looked up at him, breathing deliberately through pursed lips like Elyn had shown her. “Is it time?” he asked weakly. 

“I don’t know.” Her voice sounded small, anxious, and suddenly, she wasn’t actually sure she wanted the babe out. It was safe inside her. She could keep their child safe if she just kept it in. Her face must have betrayed some of the rising panic, because he immediately cupped his hands around it. 

“Hey. Look at me, Arya,” he said firmly. “You can do this, all right?” 

Mutely, she nodded at him and took a deep breath. 

“So,” he asked again. “Is it time?” 

She stared at him for a moment, her mind racing through all the information Elyn had given her. “Maybe? The pains need to be much closer together, I think. And longer. And probably a lot stronger.” She lifted her hands to her head. “Oh, I need Gendry.”

“Come on, then.” Jon took her arm and walked her as quickly as she could manage back to her and Gendry’s chambers, stopping several times along the way for what she realized must be contractions. 

She was just settling down onto the couch in front of their fire when the door burst open, and Gendry entered, looking around wildly for a moment before heading straight for her. 

“Are you all right?” he asked. “Is it time?”

A contraction hit, and she winced, breathing through the pain as she counted, like Elyn had told her. She got to thirty before it faded away, and she opened her eyes to see Gendry staring at her, his eyes full of a strange kind of terrified excitement. 

“Is it time?” he repeated. 

“They’re still too far apart and too short,” she told him, shaking her head. “But can we send for Elyn? There’s a storm coming, and I’d feel much better if I could see her before it started.”

“Already done, love. Now, what can I get you?”

She smiled at him and took his hand. “Just you.”

They stared at each other for a long moment, suddenly struck by the reality that after moons of waiting, it was nearly time, and their child would soon be there. Gendry leaned in to press his forehead against hers, and she closed her eyes and sighed before pulling back to look at him. 

“Ready?” she asked softly.

“Always.”

***

The short bursts of pain came and went at completely irregular intervals. Ten minutes, thirty minutes, five minutes. But they kept coming. Elyn bustled in, took one look at the worried looks on hers, Gendry’s and Jon’s faces and took charge, demanding to know exactly when her pains had started. 

“The first one always takes a while, dear,” she said, after she’d examined Arya. “Best try to get some rest while you still can.”

Evening had fallen and the storm had moved in over the castle, bringing heavy rains and booming thunder. Bella, Mya, and Edric dropped in with a card game to distract her from the increasingly frequent waves of pain that washed over her, stealing her breath. But so far, it hadn’t been anything she couldn’t handle. It hurt, certainly, but she’d been hurt worse, so she breathed through it, and when night fell, she curled up in their bed, Gendry behind her, both hoping for some rest before the real work began.

She was quiet, still, and she felt Gendry tense when he slung his arm over her and she didn’t respond. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss against her shoulder. “What are you thinking?” he asked softly.

Arya rolled over to face him. “It’s just- This is it. It won’t be just me and you anymore, and I’m scared and excited and anxious and hopeful and so, so terrified.” 

He pursed his lips quizzically. “Are you scared of the pain?”

She shook her head. “No,” she said. “Well, yes. Not really?” She paused, trying to find the words. “I’m scared of all of it. The babe coming. Being a mother.” He opened his mouth, but she kept going. “But it doesn’t matter, does it?,” she continued. “Because no matter how scared I am, you’re here to hold me. No matter how uncertain or restless I get, you’re here to settle me. And that’s what it all comes down to, doesn’t it? I love you. I can rest with you.” She stopped and lifted her hand to cup his face. “I’m home.”

Gendry’s mouth opened slightly, and his eyes were shining as they searched hers. He gazed at her for a long moment before leaning forward to kiss her. Pulling back, he smiled softly, and took both her hands in his. “Home,” he said quietly.

A smile spread across her face, and she rolled back over and burrowed in against his chest, his arms coming up to pull her close. “Home.”

***

She woke with a gasp, her entire body tensing up in pain. She’d been dozing in fits, her contractions having lessened in frequency enough that she was able to snatch small bursts of sleep here and there. But this was an entirely new sensation. Like the pains that sometimes came with her moonblood, but multiplied exponentially, and it seemed to encompass more than just her lower abdomen.

“Arya?” Gendry sat up behind her. “Are you all right?”

She groaned, and he moved, climbing over her to peer into her face. “Are you all right?” he repeated, but she was breathing through it, concentrating on counting. 

“I’m getting Elyn,” he said, turning to go, but she grabbed his hand and shook her head, holding up a finger to get him to wait. 

She got to five and fifty before the pain faded, and she found herself breathing normally again. “Don’t leave me,” she said, her voice plaintive. 

“Never,” he promised. “But we still need Elyn, so give me just a moment, all right?”

Reluctantly, she nodded, watching as he pulled on breeches and moved to the outer room. She heard him speaking quietly to someone and then he was back, holding out a hand to help her sit up. 

“She’s just downstairs, so it won’t be long,” he told her. 

She nodded, a nervous energy flooding through her. 

“You’ll let me know, won’t you?” he asked. “If you need anything? Hit me, squeeze my hand, scream at me, tell me to fuck off and never touch you again. I promise I won’t get offended.” 

Arya laughed lightly. “Just- Stay with me.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he promised. “Just let me know if the pain gets to be too much, all right?”

She scoffed. “I’ve been stabbed, Gendry. It can’t be any worse than being stabbed.”

***

It was, in fact, worse than being stabbed. Not at first, even with the increased pain, but as the hours crawled by and her contractions grew longer and closer together, their intensity also grew, leaving her unable to do anything except moan and grip tightly to Gendry, the back of a chair, or whatever else she happened to be near at the moment they hit. She couldn’t have lifted Needle if she tried. 

It was also much, much better than being stabbed. The pain was different, and she had Gendry there holding her hand and whispering words of encouragement in her ear. And then there was the promise of the reward at the end of it. Their child. Hers and Gendry’s. She could endure the pain for what came after. She would endure anything for him, for their family.

When her waters finally broke, Elyn had warned her things were about to get worse, but even so, she wasn’t prepared. Her contractions followed one after the other, sometimes barely giving her time to breathe before the pain began again. Time seemed to lose all meaning, and she heard herself babbling, protesting that it was impossible, her body couldn’t handle anymore. 

“Arya,” Elyn demanded during one of the short breaks between contractions. “Look at me, dear. Your body has done amazing things. It can do this. You can do this.” With Gendry echoing her sentiments, Arya bit her lip and nodded, bracing herself for the next one.

When it was finally time to push, she gathered up her remaining strength and bore down as hard as she could through each wave of pain, the relief of finally  _ doing _ something reinvigorating her resolve. And then finally, finally, after over an hour of pushing. 

“Almost there, Arya,” Elyn said from her position on the floor behind where Arya was crouched. “I can see the head, dear. Just one more.”

She looked up at Gendry for half a moment before the overwhelming urge to push washed over her again, and she took a deep breath and screamed, a primal yell emerging from her throat as she bore down with everything she had, and there it was. The stretching, the burning, the weight of their child’s head exiting her body, and then suddenly it was over, the rest slipping out of her in seconds, and she collapsed in Gendry’s waiting arms.

Silence. 

And then a small cry. 

She looked up at Gendry, both wide eyed with disbelief. He stood and deposited her quickly on the mattress, stepping aside as Elyn moved to gently set the small figure on her chest. 

“Arya, Gendry, meet your daughter.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tweaked one of my favorite quotes here, and I need to acknowledge that.
> 
> “And what do all the great words come to in the end, but that? I love you- I am at rest with you- I have come home.” From Busman's Honeymoon by Dorothy Sayers. 
> 
> We're nearly done now. Thank you so much for sticking with it and with me.


	22. Chapter 22

Oh.

She was tiny. She was so tiny. How was she that tiny?

And her fingers. She’d never seen such delicate fingers, curled into tiny fists the size of small plums against her chest. 

Her black hair was plastered down against her head, and Arya shifted her, cradling her head so she could get a look at her face. Bright blue eyes stared up at her.

_ Oh. _

Arya barely noticed Elyn fussing about between her legs, blindly following her instructions and pushing out the afterbirth with hardly any effort, too distracted by the tiny body curled up on her chest to focus on anything else. 

She tore her eyes away to look up at Gendry who was staring wide eyed at their daughter. She thought she’d seen all of Gendry’s faces, but this was something entirely new. The look of absolute devotion on his face as he gazed down at their child seemed to crack something inside her chest open. 

She hadn’t thought it possible to love him any more. But suddenly she did. 

Reaching out to grab his hand, she tugged him closer, and he started, moving his gaze to her face. 

“Arya,” he breathed. “She’s-” 

“I know,” she said softly. “Do you want to hold her?”

Gendry pulled back slightly and he shook his head. “I can’t- I’ve never-” His face creased in concern. “I don’t know how,” he said, a note of panic in his voice. 

“You’ll learn,” she said softly.

Elyn moved closer, Arya’s catspaw dagger in her hand. “Gendry,” she said holding it out to him, “can you help me with this?”

He stared down at it for a moment then gave a short bark of laughter. “Valyrian Steel,” he said before taking it out of her hand. “Sharpest thing we own.”

She nodded, and together they sliced through the cord, then Elyn carefully took the babe from Arya’s arms, checking her over thoroughly before wrapping her up in a small blanket and handing her back to Arya.

“I’ll give you two a minute,” she said quietly, then swiftly exited their bedroom.

From behind the closed door, they could hear a babble of questioning voices from their solar, then shouts of joy. She knew that Jon, Mya, and Bella had all been waiting anxiously for news, but they’d have to wait just a bit longer.

“Come here,” she said, shifting to make room for him next to her. 

Gendry sat down gingerly and stared at her, his face nervous as she turned to place their daughter in his arms. 

“Oh,” he breathed, gazing down at the tiny bundle in his arms, his eyes shining. “She’s so small.” 

“She looks like you,” she said, and his head snapped up, his face startled.

“You really think so?” he asked, a look of wonder on his face

Arya snorted. “Gendry, she’s got your hair and your eyes. Yes, she looks like you.”

“Hmm,” he mused gazing down. “I think she’s got your nose though.”

They sat quietly, just looking at her for a long moment.

“Hey,” he said turning to look at her. “You were amazing, and I love you so much, and-” He cut himself off. “I can’t even explain what I’m feeling right now, but you’re perfect. She’s perfect, and it’s all perfect.” He leaned forward to press his forehead against hers. “I love you,” he whispered. 

“I love you too.”

After a long moment of silence, he pulled back to gaze down at their daughter again and gave a small huff of laughter.

“What?”

“It’s just- Seven hells, we have a child.”

She laughed. “We have a child.”

***

Jon cried when she placed her daughter in his arms, a single tear running down his cheek. “Oh, Arya,” he said in a voice full of emotion. “She’s perfect.”

Mya and Bella had cooed over her tiny fingers before promptly deciding that as her aunts, they were going to give her everything she ever asked for, including but not limited to, a pony, a wolf, a donkey, a bull, three dogs, a falcon, and five cats. 

Edric had shown up in his best leathers, terrified but determined to hold her, barely breathing at all for the few minutes she was in his arms.

Davos had nearly wept, although whether it was from the relief of Storm’s End having an heir or from the rush of emotions when Gendry had said, “Meet your granddaughter,” she couldn’t actually say. 

The rest of them could wait. For now, it was just Arya and Gendry curled up in their bed, drinking in every detail of their daughter.

“What are we going to call her?” he asked quietly. She was suckling at Arya’s breast again, the strange tugging sensation beginning to feel a little familiar. 

Arya bit her lip. “I don’t know. Nothing seems quite right, does it?” 

He shook his head. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to use Ann?” she asked. Less than a week after she’d brought it up, a raven had arrived from King’s Landing that read simply, “Her name was Ann.”

Gendry shook his head again. “No. I mean, it’s fine, but like you said, just doesn’t feel right.” 

She sighed. “We’ve got to come up with something, Gendry.”

He leaned over to kiss her. “She’s less than a day old, Arya. We’ll figure it out.”

***

It was late and the castle was quiet. Elyn had remained in their solar the entire day, ready to answer any questions or assist Arya with getting up and moving around, but she’d retired to the guest chambers several hours ago, making them promise to send for her, any time of the night if they needed her.

They were determined though, to make it through the night without her. Just the three of them. Ensconced in their chambers, Gendry and Arya learning how to be parents as they rocked her, fed her, loved her. Marveling over their daughter and somehow falling impossibly more in love with her and each other every second.

But it was quiet now, their daughter sleeping peacefully in the wooden cradle beside the bed, Arya dozing in their bed, and Gendry passed out on the couch he’d dragged in the couch from their solar, swearing that he wanted to give her plenty of room. She’d protested at first, but then he reminded her of his tendency to wrap around her in his sleep, and she acquiesced, recognizing that she might need a night or two of space to recover. 

She felt like she’d fought twenty men at once, her body sore in an entirely new way, like every muscle had been pushed to its absolute limit, and she was exhausted. But she couldn’t fully sleep. Their daughter kept making tiny noises. Huffs and whimpers that had Arya jumping out of bed to stare at her, watching closely for any sign of distress. She’d always been alert, the necessity of awareness to her surroundings had been crucial to her survival. But laying there, trying to rest while their daughter was sleeping, making all those potentially terrifying noises felt impossible. 

She’d managed to drift off again, but woke instantly at the quiet mewling sounds. They’d very quickly learned that the faster they could get her to Arya’s breast, the faster she’d quiet. Take too long, and her little body would stiffen in outrage, unable to recognize the source of food right in front of her. 

“Shh, shh,” Arya soothed, lifting their child out of her crib and climbing back into bed to settle herself into the pillows and cradled her against her, sighing when she felt that odd tugging that meant she was eating.

“Arya?” Gendry called sleepily. “You need me?”

“No,” she whispered. “She’s just hungry. Sleep, all right?”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure,” she said softly. “No point in both of us being awake right now.”

“Wake me if you need me, promise?” he said yawning.

“Promise.”

Gendry nodded vaguely, and his head dropped back to his pillow, and within seconds, she could hear the steady breaths of slumber.

Arya stared at him for a moment, the faint light from the lamp casting him in a flickering shadow. He’d been so eager to help all day, listening attentively to Elyn’s instructions and explanations, beaming with pride when she’d praised his efforts. He was so determined, and she loved him all the more for it.

How had she gotten so very fortunate? Her life had been one tragedy after another, heartache upon heartache, and yet here she was holding her own child next to her sleeping husband who would do anything for her, for their daughter. He’d protect them both with his life without a moment’s hesitation.

Just like her own father.

“Oh, little one,” she whispered gazing down. “He would have loved you so much.” They all would have. And the tears fell. Streaming down her face, hot and salty, years of grief poured out of her as she silently wept. For her father, her mother, her brothers. For the lives they never got to live. 

She didn’t know how long she cried. Long enough that their daughter was asleep again, her tiny mouth still firmly attached to her breast. Taking a deep shuddering breath, Arya blinked away the tears, sniffing. She wiped at her eyes, at her nose, and glanced around her, hoping to find a handkerchief or a towel or something to wipe her nose on. But there was nothing. 

“Gendry,” she hissed quietly, not wanting to wake the sleeping babe in her arms. 

He didn’t stir, despite her repeated attempts to loudly whisper at him. 

Her nose was still running, she needed a handkerchief, and really, she just needed him. Glancing down, she saw the small pillow Elyn had given her to help prop up the babe, and she threw it, aiming right at his head. 

“Wha-” Gendry sat bolt upright, looking slightly panicked. “What’s wrong?” He blinked, taking in her red eyes and tear streaked face and his face creased in concern as he moved to climb onto their bed beside her. “What is it, love?” he asked quietly. 

“I need a handkerchief,” she sniffed, and he smiled softly, quickly retrieving one from the bedside table before settling in beside her, his arms encompassing both her and their child. 

“What is it?” he repeated gently. 

“It’s just- She’ll never know them. Any of them, and I-” The tears started welling up again. “I _ miss _ them, Gendry, and it’s not fair. It’s not fair that our child won’t know her grandparents or her uncles, or that her history is just drenched in blood, and-” She broke off, breathing in shakily, and she felt his arms tighten around her. “She should be able to run around with Rickon and look up to Robb and have my mother brush her hair and my father-” She broke off again. “She should know how much he would love her, and it’s not _ fair _ that she’ll never know them.”

He was silent for a moment, gently brushing his lips against her temple. “So we make sure she knows. Tell her stories of your brothers, of your parents, of my mother, of Nymeria and Winterfell, of our time on the road and how we saved each other. Tell her the things that count, the things that are most important.” He sighed. “One day, we’ll tell her the ugly parts, or some of them, but that’s a long way off, Arya. Until then, we tell her the good, all right?”

She stared down at their sleeping daughter, eyes burning and throat aching, and nodded, the tears falling freely again. She closed her eyes and turned her head, nuzzling into Gendry’s shoulder. 

“Thank you,” she said softly.

“For what?”

“For loving me as I am. For accepting all the ugly parts without question. For reminding me of the good.”

Gendry tightened his arms around her gently. “Always.” 

***

They had no idea what they were doing, but they were doing it. They both got pissed on, more than once over the next few days, but they’d laughed, cleaned it up, and went back to figuring out what in seven hells they were doing. There was no shortage of helpful advice, Elyn, Alara, and Alys all offering to answer any questions they had. 

Jon, Mya, and Bella were utterly devoted, fussing over her and content to simply watch her sleep in their arms. Edric was no less devoted, albeit from a little more of a distance, still too nervous to hold her for long. Davos just beamed every time his eyes fell on her, and it warmed Arya’s heart to no end to see Gendry’s adopted father figure so eager to take on the role of grandfather. Hot Pie had peered at her curiously for a few moments, then launched into a full description of all the cakes he’d make for her first name day, apparently having decided it was his solemn duty to provide her with as many sweets as she could possibly want.

It was utter bliss, and she almost couldn’t believe it was true. She kept waiting for something, for the catch, the downside, but it never came. She was happy. 

Four days after the birth, Arya was sitting upright in their bed, legs propped up and their daughter cradled on them. Gendry was sprawled on the couch, idly turning the pages of a book on the flora and fauna of the Stormlands, pausing periodically to gaze lovingly at them.

“You gonna stay on that couch all day, Lord Baratheon?” she teased. “Or are you going to come over here and kiss your wife and child?”

Gendry chuckled. “I have a wife? And a child?” He said in an exaggerated tone of disbelief. “That can’t be. What could I have possibly done in my life to deserve such wonderful things?”

She rolled her eyes, but held out her hand. “Come over here, stupid. Your daughter is making the most adorable face, and you’re missing it.”

He smiled and stood, turning to set the open book down on the couch and then froze, a small startled sound falling from his lips. 

“Gendry?” Arya sat up straighter. “What is it?”

He didn’t say anything for a long moment, then picked up the book and turned back to her, wordlessly holding it out for her to take. Curious, she moved to gently place their daughter beside her on the bed before reaching out to grab it.

There, on the page, was a delicate illustration of a butterfly perched on a branch. Below it were several more images of the same butterfly in various positions, flying, gathered with others on the side of a tree, settled on a flower. The underside of the wings were a rich yellow, spotted with black, the topside a pale, wintry grey edged in white.

Baratheon and Stark colors. Together. She blinked at the pictures for a moment then read the words beneath them.

_ The Lysandra Argellus, commonly known as the Grey Warrior is an unusually hardy species native to the Stormlands. Most often found in the Rainwood, these butterflies are able to weather the fierce storms by clustering together beneath the leaves, finding shelter and protection with others. Named for an ancient queen and the first Lady of the House Baratheon, The Lysandra Argellus’ unique coloring and ability to withstand severe weather make it one of the more remarkable species in Westeros. _

She stared at the images, at the words. _ Lysandra _. There were elements of her mother, of her aunt Lyanna, her sister, even Sandor, of Gendry’s mother and grandmother. And then there was the glaringly obvious symbolism, the merging together of their house colors, the finding safety in others, the butterfly itself. She couldn’t imagine a more perfect set of circumstances.

She turned to gaze up at Gendry, finding him staring at her with a question in his eyes, and she nodded. 

“Lysandra,” she said smiling, setting the book down and turning to pick up their daughter. 

“Lysandra,” he repeated, moving to curl up beside her on the bed and reaching out to gently take hold their daughter’s tiny fingers. “Lysandra Baratheon.”

Arya leaned her head on Gendry’s shoulder and sighed in contentment. “Lysandra Baratheon, first of her name, heir to Storm’s End.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tweaked a few details of the [Adonis Blue (Lysandra bellargus)](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Adonis_blue). It is yellow and black on one side, but blue on the other. 
> 
> Just the epilogue left now. Thanks for sticking with it.


	23. Epilogue

_ One moon _

She couldn’t hear any crying from behind the door to their solar. That was promising. Or possibly terrifying. She couldn’t actually decide which. 

Gendry had gently shooed her out of their rooms, promising that he was perfectly capable of caring for Lysandra for an hour if she wanted to visit Hot Pie in the kitchens or sit with Bella or really anything, he’d said. 

_ “You should get outside, love. Do something that’s not changing or feeding or burping. Even if it’s only thirty minutes.” _

He’d been right, of course. She’d reluctantly left them, having just fed their daughter, and joined Jon for a walk around the grounds. And though she’d missed her dreadfully the entire time, Arya had to admit that Gendry had been right. The short break with Jon had been refreshing, just wandering through the castle with him and talking had her feeling rejuvenated in a way she hadn’t expected. 

But now all she really wanted was to hold her daughter again, her chest practically vibrating with the need to feel her in her arms, to nuzzle her soft, black hair, to marvel over her tiny fingernails. It was almost ridiculous, she thought. It’d been less than an hour, and one would think she hadn’t seen Lysandra for days with how much she ached to hold her again. 

Shaking her head to herself in amusement, Arya pushed open the door expecting to find their solar empty, but there he was, there they were. Gendry was lying on the couch, his shirt discarded on the floor beside him, his arms wrapped protectively around Lysandra curled up on his chest. She was wearing only the absorbent smallclothes they ended up changing ten times a day, and they were both sound asleep. 

Arya stood there in the doorway for a moment watching them, the love for her tiny family threatening to burst out of her in tears at any moment. She’d cried a lot in the past moon, in frustration, in exhaustion, in pain, but more than anything she’d cried out of happiness, out of love, the emotion hitting her whenever she saw the look on Gendry’s face as he gazed down at their daughter, when Lysandra stared up at her, wide eyed as she ate, her tiny hand curling against her breast. 

She turned to shut the door gently behind her, trying not to wake them, but either Gendry was less asleep than she’d thought or she was louder than she’d intended. 

“Hey,” he said sleepily, smiling up at her from the couch. 

“Hey,” she whispered, moving to bend down to press her lips against Lysandra’s cheek before kissing him. “How’d you end up shirtless?”

He closed his eyes and yawned. “She was fussing,” he said. “Didn’t seem hungry, so I didn’t want to send for you, but I remembered how she calms when you wrap her up against your skin, so I thought I’d try it.” 

“Looks like it worked.”

“Mmm-hmm,” he murmured, opening his eyes to look up at her. “I see now why you fall asleep with her on your chest so often. She’s like a tiny little ball of milk of the poppy.” 

Arya smiled. “Do you want me to take her?”

He shook his head and tightened his hold around her. “No. She’s mine now,” he said grumpily. “You’ll just have to make another one.”

She snorted. “Kind of need you for that,” she teased.

He grinned up at her for a moment before gazing back down at their daughter, his face falling into that tender expression that it seemed to always be in these days. “We did good, didn’t we?” he asked softly.

“We did good,” she agreed.

***

_ Two moons _

“I think she’s finally asleep,” she whispered, pulling the door to their bedroom shut behind her. 

Gendry was sitting on the couch, trying and failing not to look too hopeful. They’d had precious little time for each other ever since Lysandra’s birth, and they were determined to take more than just a few stolen minutes to enjoy one another’s company, especially since Elyn had finally given Arya the all clear. 

_ “Although,” she’d said. “You might want to ease back into it. Your...usual level of activity might be a bit much at first. That is, if you can even find the time for your usual level of activity.”  _

“Take off your pants,” Arya ordered quietly, reaching up to pull her tunic over her head as she stalked across the room. 

She was transported back to a night almost a year prior as she watched Gendry stare at her dumbfounded for a moment before he frantically started pulling at the ties of his breeches, desperate to get them off. 

Within moments, they were both bare, and she was straddling his lap, his hands roaming over her skin, leaving trails of fire in their wake. 

“I’ve missed this,” she breathed against his ear as he kissed his way down her neck. “I’ve missed us.” 

“Me too,” he said, grasping her thighs and standing. He turned to set her down gently on the couch before settling himself on top of her. “Are you sure about this?” he asked. “You’re not still sore or anything?”

Arya shook her head and reached up to pull him closer, but he resisted. “You tell me,” he said seriously. “You tell me if it’s too much or if it’s not working, all right? If I’m doing something wrong or just-”

She raised herself up and cut him off with a firm kiss. “Gendry,” she said as she snaked her hand down between them to grasp his length, smirking at his gasp, “fuck me already.” 

He drew himself up to look at her for a moment, his eyes searching hers, then he swooped down to capture her lips with his. “As m’lady commands,” he whispered. 

For a moment, there were no sounds in the room except quiet sighs of contentment, and then, breaking through the stillness, a small cry from behind a wooden door, and they both froze.

Another small cry, and Arya made to sit up but Gendry held up a hand. “Wait? Just a moment?” he said. They listened, both perfectly still for almost a minute, but their daughter was quiet, and they both sighed in relief. 

“You know,” she said, pulling him back on top of her, “I was really hoping to take our time, but I’m afraid we might not get the chance. So,” she smirked up at him, grabbing his hand and moving it between her legs, “how quickly do you think you can take care of this?” 

Gendry’s eyes darkened, and he leaned closer to whisper in her ear. “It’s not how quickly, love. It’s how many times I can take care of it before she wakes up again.” 

“Is that a challenge?” Arya demanded, pushing him up and back until he was sitting up, with her astride him. “Because if we’re making this a competition, you know I’m going to win.”

Gendry pulled her down, smiling against her lips. “I think we both win.”

***

_ Three moons _

“Arya, love, you  _ need _ to rest.” 

She glared at Gendry and shook her head stubbornly as she rocked Lysandra in her arms. “I’m not doing it, Gendry. I’m not just handing her over to someone else to feed.”

He gazed at her with a mixture of exasperation and concern. Sighing, he reached out and took her face in his hands. “You almost passed out in your venison pie, love, and yesterday, you could barely keep your eyes open while you were changing her.” He leaned in close. “You’ve  _ got to sleep. _ ”

“But it’s  _ my _ job,” she protested. 

“It’s  _ our _ job,” he corrected. “And part of it is taking care of ourselves. If you’re not well, you won’t be able to take care of her.”

She stared at him for a moment, wanting to argue, but her head was fuzzy and for a moment, Gendry’s face morphed into two and she sighed heavily. “All right,” she conceded reluctantly, handing over their sleeping daughter and kissing her softly on the forehead. “But if she won’t settle, then I don’t care how asleep I am, you wake me up, got it?”

“I promise, love,” he said. “Now go lay down,  _ please _ .”

She didn’t think she’d be able to sleep, too worried about someone else holding her child, feeding her child, but then suddenly she was waking up, more rested than she’d been in moons, but with her breasts achingly full. 

She crept out of their bedroom to find Gendry lying on the floor in front of Lysandra, a wooden direwolf in one hand, a bull in the other, apparently acting out some kind of story for their daughter who was watching with wide blue eyes. 

She watched silently for a moment before crossing the room to drop beside him on the floor, Lysandra immediately making excited grunting noises at her appearance. 

“You feel better?” he asked as she reached out to pull their daughter into her arms, and she nodded, tugging her tunic aside and smiling down as she latched on eagerly. 

“I do,” she said. “I don’t think I realized just how tired I was until now.” 

“Does this mean you’re all right with the wet nurse?”

She pursed her lips up and nodded again. “Sometimes,” she clarified. “Not all the time, but sometimes.”

“Sometimes,” he repeated. 

***

_ Five moons _

“You promise you’ll be back?” she asked Jon tearfully. The royal caravan was waiting, Bran already in his wheelhouse, waiting to carry them both back to King’s Landing before Jon returned to the North. 

He leaned in to kiss her forehead. “I promise,” he said firmly, glancing at where Lysandra was babbling happily in Gendry’s arms. “I can’t miss seeing this one again.”

“How long?” 

Jon sighed. “I don’t know, Arya. Truly, I don’t.” He rubbed his face with his hands and sighed again. “This has been- I’ve loved it here with you, and I will return, but I think I need some time, all right?”

She nodded, feeling her eyes well up again. 

“Tell you what,” he said. “If I’m not back for at least a visit before this one turns two, you can come after me, all right?”

She swallowed hard, but nodded again. “All right,” she agreed, finally letting the tears fall when he pulled her into a tight hug.

***

_ Seven moons _

“Come on, Lys, you can do it!” 

“Move those legs!” 

“Come on, sweetling, you’ve got it!’

For half a second, Arya thought that if anyone walked in and saw them all kneeling in a circle around the rug, herself, Gendry, Mya, Bella, and Edric, they might think them all slightly touched in the head with how earnestly they were cheering on Lysandra’s attempts at pushing herself across the floor, her little face screwed up in effort, her bright blue eyes fixed on the wooden direwolf a few feet in front of her. 

Her chubby legs flailed behind her, kicking wildly, and then her foot caught against the rug and she pushed herself forward, her other foot gaining purchase behind her, her arms stretching out to grab the tiny toy as she inched slowly toward it. 

The moment her fingers made contact, they all burst into applause, Lysandra promptly bursting into tears at the sound, and Arya swooped down to pull her up into her arms. 

“Oh, you clever thing,” she crooned, bouncing her up and down in her arms. “You got your Nymeria all on your own, didn’t you?”

Bella and Mya crowded close, both cooing at her and her tears dried up instantly as she held up the tiny direwolf Davos had made for her and jabbered at them. Both of them adopted very serious expressions as they listened, nodding exaggeratedly as they said things like “I see” and “Oh, how interesting.”

Arya glanced up to see Gendry watching them, beaming with pride, and she handed Lysandra off to Bella and crossed the room to where he was standing next to Edric who was watching Lysandra with furrowed brows. 

“She crawled!” she said excitedly. 

“I know!” Gendry looked like he was about to burst with pride. “She can move on her own!”

Edric made an odd noise, and they both turned to look at him curiously. “Yeah,” he said doubtfully. “She can move on her own now.” 

They glanced at each other, confused over Edric’s words. “And?” Gendry asked.

“Huh?” Edric turned to see them both looking at him questioningly. “Oh,” he said. “It’s just- If she’s not going to stay put anymore, aren’t you going to have to worry about her getting into things?”

The elation she’d felt at Lysandra pulling herself across the floor melted into a blind panic, and from the expression on Gendry’s face, she was pretty sure he was thinking the exact same thing. 

They stared at each other for a moment. 

“Well, shit.”

***

_ One year _

“Mama mama mama,” Lysandra toddled past Arya’s desk, waving her tiny carved replica Needle in one hand, a miniature hammer in the other. “Dada dada dada,” she chanted, bringing her hammer down on the little wooden bench Davos had made her. 

“Almost done, little one,” Arya said, even though she knew Lysandra did not fully understand her. “It’s nearly time for your feast, you know. Hot Pie has made you a cake that I believe is taller than you.”

Lysandra stopped banging and looked up at her. “Ake?” 

Arya laughed. That word, she knew. “Yes, Lys, cake.”

“Ake!” she shrieked happily as she resumed her banging. 

Arya watched her for a moment, as always slightly stunned by the fact that this little person was half her, half Gendry. That they’d  _ made _ her. And, that they’d somehow managed to keep her alive, happy, and healthy for an entire year. She almost felt that Hot Pie should have made her a cake for that. 

“Mama?” 

Blinking, Arya looked up to see Lysandra standing beside her, arms outstretched. “Up?”

Tucking her daughter into her embrace, Arya smiled as she burrowed into her chest. Yes, she thought. She definitely deserved a cake for this.

***

_ Two Years _

“Lysandra! Watch out! The evil prince is about to get you!” Mya pointed dramatically to where Edric was creeping up behind her, his wooden sword behind his back.

“No!” Lysandra held up a hand, her little voice indignant. “You wait.” 

Edric stood, his hands on his hips and an exasperated expression on his face as he glanced over to where Arya and Gendry stood watching. “Like the evil prince is just going to listen,” he said shaking his head. 

“You will if you know what’s good for you,” Mya called out laughing, and Edric threw up his hands in surrender, clearly resigned to his fate. 

“Your direwolves are coming, my lady,” Mya called out again, and Lysandra clapped her hands in glee as Jon galloped in from the side followed by Davos, both of them howling when they stopped in front of her. 

“‘Meria,” Lysandra pointed at Jon then Davos, “Ghost,” then shifted her finger to Edric. “Get him.” 

At this point in the game, things usually quickly ended with Edric “dead” in the dirt and Lysandra on Jon’s shoulders. From their vantage point at the edge of the yard, Arya and Gendry watched in amusement as Edric threw himself to the ground and wailed as Jon and Davos both pawed the air near his face and their daughter clapped in delight. 

Arya smiled to herself, Lysandra’s happiness stirring up the question she’d been toying with the past few moons, the one she hadn’t yet voiced to Gendry. Although, she was fairly certain what his answer would be. “What do you think?” she asked after a moment, leaning in to nestle herself against his side. “Should we give her another playmate?”

Gendry stilled. “What?” he whispered, disbelief clear in his voice.

Arya turned to look up at him, finding his gaze fixed on her. “I told you. I told you there’d be more. I think it might be time. Besides,” she said glancing over to where Bella stood next to her husband. “They’ll have a cousin almost exactly their age if your sister and Steffon have anything to say about it.”

Gendry stared at her for a moment, then swooped in to kiss her, pulling her tightly against him. “I love you,” he murmured against her lips before drawing back to eye the group in front of them. “Do you think they’d notice if we ran off?”

***

_ Two and a half years _

“So what do you think, Lys?” Arya asked their daughter who was staring at her stomach with furrowed brows.

“In there?” she asked dubiously, pointing at Arya’s middle. 

Arya nodded,glancing up at Gendry who was watching the exchange with a broad smile on his face. “That’s right.”

Lysandra stared for another moment before looking up at Arya, her little face screwed up in confusion. “How it get there?”

Her gaze shot to Gendry whose face had suddenly paled. 

“Uhh,” he said, reaching down to pull their daughter into his arms. “We’ll tell you when you’re older.” 

***

_ Three years _

“He’s so little,” Lysandra whispered, her arms wrapped around the tiny bundle that held her brother.

“He is,” Gendry agreed, “and that’s why we have to be very gentle with him, all right? Can you be gentle with Edwyn?”

Her eyes widened and her face turned very serious as she nodded vigorously. “I be very gentle,” she said, staring down at him with such determination, Arya thought her heart might burst. 

“I know you will, sweetling,” she said, smiling up at Gendry who was watching them all with shining eyes. 

He leaned over to kiss her on the forehead. “Do you want me to let everyone in to meet him? If Sansa doesn’t get to see him soon, I’m afraid we’ll end up with another fifty blankets.”

Arya laughed, but shook her head. “Just a few more minutes,” she said, nodding at Lysandra who had her head bent close to her brother whispering something neither of them could here.

Gendry smiled and reached out to squeeze her hand. “Just a few more minutes.”

***

_ Four years _

“Mama?” Lysandra’s voice cut through the quiet chatter of the waiting petitioners in the round hall, and Arya turned to see her daughter standing beside her looking up anxiously as Alara came up behind her, her face apologetic. 

“I’m sorry, Arya, she just slipped away.” 

“It’s all right,” she said, then focused her attention back on Lysandra. “What is it?”

Her daughter’s face fell into a pout. “Edwyn and Cassie are  _ boring _ . They can’t do anything, mama.”

Arya reached out to pull Lysandra into her lap. “I know, sweetling, but your brother and cousin aren’t as big as you. They’re too little to do all the things you can do.”

Her daughter didn’t respond, just burrowed down further into her lap.

“Tell you what,” Arya said, tightening her arms around her. “When I’m done with this, we’ll go for a ride, all right? Just the two of us. We’ll get Hot Pie to pack us some food, and we’ll ride wherever you want.”

Lysandra’s face lit up. “Can we have cakes?”

Arya laughed. “Of course we can. We can have as many cakes as you’d like,” she said, leaning down to look her in the eye. “Just don’t tell your father when he gets back, all right?”

***

_ Five years _

“Give it back!” Lysandra yelled, her face red as she glared at her brother.

Arya looked up from the ledger and sighed at the sight of her son holding Lysandra’s carved wooden Needle behind his back. Her children adored each other, but there were days that seemed as if their sole purpose in life was to annoy the other. 

“Edwyn,” she said patiently, “give Lys her sword back.”

“No.” 

“Edwyn,” she repeated. “Listen to mama, and give it back.”

He stomped his foot and shook his head. “My sword,” he said stubbornly.

Arya sighed again and stood, crossing the room to kneel in front of him. “That sword belongs to Lysandra, not you,” she said, immediately continuing at the look on her son’s face. “But I know it’s lots of fun. Would you like one of your own?”

Edwyn’s eyes widened. “For me?” he asked, a note of disbelief in his voice. 

“Yes,” she laughed, glancing up at Gendry who had just entered their chambers. “Just for you.” She stood and held out her hand. “So let’s give Lysandra back her sword, so we can go talk to Papa Davos about making a special one just for you, all right?”

Edwyn turned and held out the sword to his sister who took it and held it tight against her.

“Everything all right?” Gendry asked, pulling her into his arms and kissing her.

“It’s fine,” she said, smiling up at him. “I’m going to take Edwyn to see Davos, but I think Lys could use some attention right now if you want to do something with her.” 

He nodded, his face thoughtful. “She’s been asking about the forge. Wants to try smithing something. I’ve been thinking she could try nails. Are you all right with that?”

Arya bit her lip and glanced uncertainly at their daughter. She was still so small. But then she looked back at Gendry, at the eager look on his face, and she relaxed. He’d never let anything happen to her. 

“You’ll keep her safe, right?” she asked. 

“Always,” he promised.

***

_ Six years _

Edwyn was crawling on all fours down the hall, howling loudly as Lysandra followed behind him, a serious look on her face, Gendry just after, clearly holding back laughter.

“Mama,” she said, pointing to Edwyn. “This is my direwolf. His name is Wolf.” 

Arya blinked and glanced up at Gendry who just held up his hands and shook his head as if to say, “I have no idea.”

“Oh,” she said. “Well, he looks like a very nice direwolf. Is he friendly?” 

“Yes,” Lysandra nodded as Edwyn shook his head and howled ferociously at the same time. 

“Oh, that’s a scary howl,” she said. “Maybe he’s hungry. Should we go see Hot Pie and get him something to eat?”

“Actually-” Gendry started, but then Edwyn jumped to his feet, apparently done with being a direwolf for the moment. 

“Mama, there’s a ship!” he said, tugging on her sleeve. “Come see!”

Arya narrowed her eyes and looked at her husband. “A ship?”

“That’s what we were coming to tell you,” he said. “It’s-”

“It’s got a direwolf on it!” Lysandra interrupted excitedly. “Just like Nymeria!” 

_ Nymeria. _ She felt her mouth drop open. “Does it have direwolves on the sails?” she asked, staring at Gendry, and he shook his head. 

“No, but the figurehead is a carved direwolf,” he said significantly. “They’ve dropped anchor in the bay, and they look to be launching a boat to head to shore.”

She blinked at him for a moment, incredulous. “A ship. With a carved direwolf figurehead,” she repeated. “In Shipbreaker Bay.” 

Lysandra and Edwyn each grabbed one of her hands and pulled. “Come on, mama,” she said. “You’ve got to see! Uncle Jon’s got Jurne’s far-eye, so you can see it really good!”

She stared at Gendry, unmoving. “Is it them?” she asked. Could it really be them?

He shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said. “I never saw that ship, but it looks like it’s been through a lot. The sails are patched, and I think a mast might have been replaced. It could be them.”

Arya had thought of Jarrad and Jack and the rest of the crew periodically over the years, wondered where they were. If they were all right. If they’d found their adventure. On rare nights, she thought of where she’d be had Lysandra not come along. If she’d still be on the ship. If she’d have turned them around and come back to Storm’s End. If she’d be dead.

Following their jabbering children, she and Gendry joined Jon and Mya where they stood on the thick curtain wall that overlooked an unusually calm Shipbreaker Bay. Her brother handed her the far-eye as she stepped up beside him. There, in the distance, was the  _ Nymeria _ , and halfway to shore were two smaller boats, laden down with chests, barrels, and crates. Standing in the bow of the first boat, holding up his own far-eye was Jack, Jarrad waving his arms beside him. 

For half a moment, she was there, next to them on that boat, staring up uncertainly at the massive fortress, her heart pounding, unsure of what she would find after six years, and the weight of that unlived life settled heavily in her chest.

But then she felt Gendry’s arm wrap around her waist, and she looked up at him then down at their children and then to the swell of her stomach beneath her tunic. And she smiled, the contentment with the life she had spreading through her, dispelling any fleeting question of  _ what if _ . 

She was exactly where she was always meant to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I started this, I had a vague idea of where it was going, but it turned into something so much more. Thank you all for reading and for all the comments and the kudos and just everything.


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